


The Red Queen

by fei_wen_yu



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Angst with a Happy Ending, BAMF Sansa Stark, F/F, F/M, Fix-It, Joffrey Baratheon is His Own Warning, M/M, Minor Character Death, Ned Stark Lives, POV Sansa Stark, Physical Abuse, Protective Robb Stark, R Plus L Equals J, Rape/Non-con Elements, Robb Stark Lives, Slow Burn, Stark Family Reunion(s) (ASoIaF), Theon never betrays Robb, the slowest of slow burns
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-29
Updated: 2020-03-11
Packaged: 2021-02-24 23:53:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 13
Words: 51,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22466722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fei_wen_yu/pseuds/fei_wen_yu
Summary: Sansa held on to her naivete for as long as possible, but, standing before the entire court pleading pleading for her father's life, she is forced to face reality. Now she has to scramble to come up with a plan to save her father's life and keep the North from going to war.A deal with Cersei leaves her married to Joffrey and doing her best to make it from one day to the next. But Westeros is still at war, and Sansa soon realizes that she deserves more than just passive survival and the people deserve more than a weak queen.Will she be able to make a difference or is she doomed to be a victim and a pawn her whole life?
Relationships: Arya Stark/Gendry Waters, Catelyn Stark/Ned Stark, Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth, Joffrey Baratheon/Sansa Stark, Robb Stark/Margaery Tyrell, Theon Greyjoy/Sansa Stark
Comments: 31
Kudos: 228





	1. Opening Her Eyes

Sansa had never felt so nervous in her life as she did today, walking into the throne room. Not when her mother screamed during Rickon’s birth, not when Arya was bedridden with the spotted fever, not even when she knelt in the Sept and the Godswood to pray for Bran to wake again. In all those times, trying as they were, there had been nothing Sansa could do. She was helpless but to await to see what the gods had in store for her family. 

As frustrating as that had been at the time, now that the outcome relied on her own actions Sansa found herself wishing she could simply throw the responsibility back to the gods. She was stupid Sansa, silly Sansa. Sansa who her family loved but did not think capable of anything more than dancing and sewing. 

How could she help her father? And now it wasn’t just her father, it was her sister lost somewhere in the streets on King’s Landing, possibly raped and left for dead in a ditch. It was her older brother Robb, who at only ten and six had summoned her father’s bannermen to march on King’s Landing. It was her future, was she still going to marry Joffrey, how could she marry a man who would see her father dead?

Her legs trembled as she made her way through the hall and down the steps into the main hall. She could hear Maester Pycelle speaking, but she might as well have been underwater for how well she could understand his words. She could feel the stares of each of the other Lords and Ladies in the hall as if each one was a cannon ball chained to her body. She felt the weight of their judgment pulling her head down as she ached to just avoid everyone’s eye and curl up in her bed. But she had to stand tall. She was Sansa Stark of Winterfell; she still might one day be Queen of the Seven Kingdoms and she would never cower to the likes of the nobles in the Red Keep. They parted before her, as if scared her father’s treachery might rub off on them. 

Sansa had tried to look her best today. Her red hair was pulled into the high arc bun just like Cersei’s with two twin twists draped over her shoulder’s hanging by her almost non-existent breasts. She was wearing a robin’s egg blue Southron dress, with the wrap style and the long bell sleeves that fell well past her hands. She had adored the style once, had begged her father to purchase extra fabric so that she could dresses like it in the North. But as Joffrey, Cersei, Maester Pycelle, Peter Baelish and Varys turned to stare at her, she could only think of her mother who always easily commanded a room’s attention in the dark, sever gowns she had adopted since moving to Winterfell. If there was anyone she wanted to be today, it was Catelyn Stark, Lady of Winterfell, who had silenced the most cantankerous of lords with just the simple raise of an eyebrow. 

Joffrey and Cersei sat behind a wall of guards as they served Ser Barristan Selmy his own humiliation. Sansa was selfishly thankful the court’s attention was no longer on her. She watched as the most respected knight in the Kingdom tore off his gloves and cape declaring that he would always be a knight. As everyone laughed at Petyr Baelish’s jape that Ser Barristan would be a naked knight Sansa felt her blood curdle. She had grown up hearing or Ser Barristan’s honor and his brave exploits; she remembered Bran practically drooling over each tale. And now simply because Joffrey had deemed him unneeded the courtiers abandoned him in seconds. She saw them do it to her father as well. When the Starks arrived in King’s Landing her father was the honorable friend of King Robert. Now he was a jealous savage from the North who had always been scheming for the crown. Ser Barristan stormed out of the hall; his famous white cape left at Joffrey’s feet. Now was her moment.

“Your grace” Sansa stayed off to the side waiting to be acknowledged.

“Do you have some business for the King and the Council Sansa?” Cersei turned from her seat by the Iron throne to look at Sansa. The Queen shared a smile with Sansa. This scene was all part of their agreement. Cersei knew exactly what Sansa would say, or rather beg. And Sansa knew that if she performed adequately her father would be off to the Wall and her brother, and sister, if she could be found, would be safe at home in Winterfell. Sansa still wasn’t sure what lay in her future. 

“I do” She knelt to the ground; her knees began to ache against the marble almost instantly. She tried to avoid looking at the wall of guards that stood before Joffrey. She had seen how quickly they had drawn their blades for the famously loyal Ser Barristan, she dared not think of how quickly they might dispatch the daughter of an accused traitor should she say they wrong thing. Unfortunately, she also wished to avoid the eyes of the advisers that stood behind Joffrey. Each of their gazes was slightly different but they all made her uncomfortable. This left her to look solely at Joffrey, her betrothed who held her father’s life in his hands. “As it please your grace I ask mercy for my father, Lord Eddard Stark who is Hand of the King” Out of the corner of her eye she saw Maester Pycelle start as if offended that she still referred to her accused traitor father as the Hand of the King.

“Treason is a noxious weed and it should be torn out, root-” The old man started but before he could further condemn her family the Maester was interrupted by the King. 

“Let her speak, I want to hear what she has to say.” Joffrey leaned forward his eyes hungry for her degradation. He relished this moment; she could see that now. He wanted to see people prostrate themselves before him and beg for his mercy.

“Thank you, your grace.” She tried to seem as meek as possible. 

“Do you deny your father’s crime?” Baelish demanded. Sansa had thought he might be a friend considering the friendship he said he shared with her mother, but it appeared he, like the other courtiers, abandoned his loyalty to friends to curry favor with the King.

“No, my lords.” She could feel the tears welling in her eyes, but she did her best to keep her voice steady. “I know he must be punished; all I ask is mercy. I know my lord father must regret what he did, he was King Robert’s friend and he loved him you all know he loved him. He never wanted to be hand until the King asked him. They must have lied to him, Lord Renly or Lord Stannis they must have lied.” Sansa could feel her voice almost giving out in the end, revealing her exhaustion after staying up all night fretting over what this moment would look like, her anger that the Baratheon and Lannisters would dare to put her family, her father through this spectacle.

“He said I wasn’t the King; why did he say that” Joffrey voice betrayed him as well. While in her voice the court could hear a young girl pushed to the breaking point, Joffrey’s tone exposed something deeper. His insecurity, how weak his claim on the throne truly was. He almost sounded like a little boy looking anywhere for reassurance. Joffrey was not a man that could lead armies to secure his power and the quaver at the end of his question revealed just how aware of that he was.

“He was badly hurt. Maester Pycelle was giving him milk of the poppy; he wasn’t himself otherwise he never would have said it.” The truth was Sansa had no idea why her father had claimed Joffrey wasn’t King Robert’s true heir. All she knew was that almost as soon as they settled into the Red Keep her father had changed. He wasn’t the stern but kind man she had known as her father in Winterfell. In the South, he had taken to mysterious journeys and locking himself in his solar hunched over books that he would slam shut the minute she or Arya walked in the room. The lines in his face had grown deeper and deeper and he had more secret meetings in a week than she had ever known him to have back home.

“Child’s faith, such sweet innocence, and yet they say wisdom oft comes from the mouths of babes” Sansa had never really interacted with Varys before but if is comment about her supposed wisdom regarding her father’s innocence was anything to go by, she just might be able to trust him. 

“Treason is treason” She was starting to hate Maester Pycelle.

“Anything else?” Sansa felt her heart sink, it didn’t seem like she had made any progress for her father’s case.

“If you still have any affection in your heart for me please do me this kindness your grace.” She was starting to believe Joffrey had never had any affection for her. He just enjoyed basking in Sansa’s blind adoration. 

“Your sweet words have moved me, but your father has to confess he has to confess and say that I’m the king or there’ll be no mercy for him” He leveled his finger at her; trying to appear more stern and commanding as he issued his condition but she could still see the shadow of insecurity lingering in his posture. Whatever claim her father had made had shaken him to his core. But she couldn’t let herself get distracted with why that might be. Right now, she just had to focus on getting through this moment with a promise that her father’s head would remain firmly on his shoulders. 

“He will” Sansa kept her voice firm despite having no idea if her father would keep her promise. All she could do was pray. Once again, just as she had wanted, the future was out of her hands and back under the domain of the gods. 

But that wasn’t satisfaction in Joffrey’s eye. It wasn’t acceptance or vindication that the greatest threat to his seat would be suitably punished. It was hunger. It was the hunger that was in his eyes when he had sought to humiliate Arya’s friend the butcher’s boy, when he had called for the deaths of Nymeria and Lady, when he had found out the Hound had run down that butcher’s boy, when the Mountain had shoved his lance through a knight’s throat at the tournament in honor of her father. 

She had never known it before. She had seen it those times in Joffrey’s eyes but could never name it. Her father had kept her, and her sister sheltered from any horrors of the outside world. At home she had never minded, secure in the knowledge that her father Robb, Jon, Theon and all of her father’s men would keep her safe from any threat. 

She had held on to this naiveté for as long as possible. Even as her father tried to tell her about Joffrey, and as she heard more and more horrible rumors about him, she still found herself still stuck in the songs that promised her a blessed life filled with honorable knights and gallant princes. She had not believed Robb or Jon when they told her how terrible Joffrey was at sword fighting and more importantly how poorly he had reacted to losing. 

She had tried to forget Joffrey’s actions with the butcher’s boy on the way to King’s Landing. How he had brought live steal against a boy armed only with a stick who had never had any of the formal training. Since arriving at the Red Keep, she had heard the servants talk of how he had skinned his younger brother Prince Tommen’s cat alive. She had heard how all the whores who left his room were beaten and bloody. That was one rumor she found particularly hard to ignore. But she had done her best to chalk it up to gossip from those who had a flair for the dramatic and like to stir up trouble. 

However, as she knelt alone in the hall where her grandfather Lord Rickard and uncle Brandon had been murdered, she found herself resenting her father’s coddling and damning her willful ignorance. Perhaps if he had told her the truth of King’s Landing and of how cruel princes could be, she would have recognized the look in Joffrey’s eye for what it really was. Joffrey was out for blood. No amount of pleading would slake his thirst. If she was to save her father, she would need to give Joffrey something else. Which meant she needed to think, and fast.


	2. A Bold Request

Sansa’s audience with the King ended after she agreed that her father would confess and name Joffrey the rightful ruler of the Seven Kingdoms. After his dismissal, she did her best to melt back into the wall of courtiers attending Joffrey’s court. She would have preferred to run back to her chambers and hide away from the rest of the world, but she couldn’t afford to show the other nobles any weakness. 

She dreaded to think of what awful jokes they might make about her once she was gone. She could already hear some of the bolder nobles whispering about her family’s dishonor. But if they were going to mock her, they would have to do it to her face. She had never run from Arya’s teasing or one of Bran’s pranks and she wouldn’t run from these weak-minded nobles whose loyalties change with a shift in the winds. Nevertheless, she couldn’t stop her cheeks from flushing as she tried her very best to avoid making eye contact with any of her tormentors.

Instead she tried to focus her mind on something else, something infinitely more important: What could she possibly give Joffrey that would equal the vindication he would get from lopping off her father’s head?

It was infuriating how blind she had been to Joffrey’s bloodthirstiness; how she had willed herself into only seeing him as her dashing prince for so long. In hindsight his maliciousness was obvious.

It seemed the only thing he cared about more than watching people suffer was having people fawn over him. During her time in the Red Keep she had been almost obsessive in her observations of Joffrey. Amidst every conversation, every feast, every interaction she had studied the blonde boy, desperate to learn who her future husband would be and how she could be the best wife possible. And now that she was actually thinking about all she had observed in a context other than how to best be a pleasing spouse she discovered she had actually learned quite a lot about Joffrey. 

Some details were obvious; he enjoyed red wine, possibly too much, and he hated Dornish spices, he almost always wore Lannister red and made even more lewd jokes that his infamously crass father. 

Other details were less obvious but still somewhat known throughout the court; he despised his siblings for depriving him of even a second of his mother’s affections, he enjoyed whores that looked like him, fair haired and blue eyed, and he was known to beat his servants. 

Finally, there were those characteristics that only someone who knew him intimately, or in Sansa’s case, someone who was infatuated with him, would know. Joffrey was a troubling paradox of deep narcissism and near debilitating insecurity. 

In any conversation the betrothed couple had shared any mention of her brothers’ exploits had made him furious, and he immediately assumed that she was comparing him to them. But this perceived slight could always be smoothed over if she switched to remarking on how much she admired the prince. He commissioned several weapons all of the highest quality and enjoyed showing them off but never dared to actually learn how to wield them for fear of embarrassing himself. 

Perhaps that was the key, maybe, if the gods were on her side, Joffrey might care more about having the people adore him than he would about punishing her father for his accusations. 

But again, she was faced with the same problem: What in the world could she give Joffrey more attention than he got every day as the King, and how could she possibly give it to him? Since his father died Joffrey had scheduled feasts, a ball and a small tournament, all in his own honor, but it didn’t seem to be enough. Now with her father’s betrayal casting a pall over his reign Joffrey would need something bigger than a simple feast or tournament. 

The new, insecure King would need something that focused the entire realm’s attention on him. And how could she, the daughter of a disgraced lord, ever hope to arrange such a magnificent affair. She might be Joffrey’s betrothed but given the side-eyed looks she was still getting from the other nobles at court today, that was not going to count for much. 

Except-maybe that was it. She and Joffrey were betrothed. What could capture the attention of the people and focus it on Joffrey more than a wedding?  
An execution lasted only a day, celebrations for a royal wedding could go on for a week or more. And knowing Joffrey, even without her trying to distract him from her father’s treason, he would have demanded at least two weeks of feasts, balls, hunts and tourneys to celebrate his marriage. 

But she was only ten and three, even if her monthly blood had come, she would still be considered too young to marry. Her mother and father weren’t married until Catelyn was ten and seven and Ned ten and eight. The youngest she had ever heard of a noble woman marrying was one who was ten and four and the couple hadn’t even lived together for another two years. 

Moreover, if she had learned one thing growing up with Theon, it was the look on a man’s face when he coveted a woman and she had seen that look on Joffrey’s face ever since they first locked eyes at Winterfell. There was no doubt in her mind that Joffrey would bed her as soon as the law allowed.

A wedding was an idea, maybe not the best one but at least it was something she could work with. The difficulty would be convincing Cersei to go through with it. There was no way that Cersei would believe that Sansa had just conveniently had her moon’s blood and still wanted to wed Joffrey despite him arresting and threatening to execute her father. 

That meant she would have to tell Cersei the truth and somehow convince her to go along with her plan. The good news was that, although Sansa didn’t know why, Cersei didn’t want her father executed. If she did, Sansa was sure her father’s head would already be on a pike adorning the walls of the Red Keep. Sansa could work with that. All she had to do was convince the queen that Joffrey was planning on killing her father despite their agreement and that she had to stop him.   
Who knows, Cersei might have a better plan. One that didn’t involve Sansa marrying herself off before she even became a true woman. 

Sansa had been so lost in her own panic and planning that she failed to notice Joffrey, his mother, and their advisors leaving, thereby dismissing the rest of the court. She looked around the rapidly emptying throne room. The few people left in the room were already making their way to the doors, and the guards were staring at her, as if wondering how they were going to get the daydreaming girl out of the room. 

Wonderful. Now they and all the nobles probably thought she was slow in the head-- just what she needed. She walked briskly to the doors, trying her very best not to be seen running but also desperate to secure her father’s life as soon as possible. 

Once she was clear of the courtiers she broke into a sprint, her slippers barely making a sound on the stone floors. She dashed up the winding stairs her hair flying out of its careful styling, up the royal wing to where Cersei, Joffrey, Tommen, and Myrcella all stayed. The last time she had been here she was writing a letter to Robb, condemning their father. It was not a memory she looked on fondly. 

She slowed once she reached their landing, giving herself time to smooth down her hair and regain her breath before approaching Cersei’s door. The guards standing outside the Queen’s chambers gave her a curious look, clearly not used to seeing a lady of her standing looking so disheveled. 

“I request an audience with Her Majesty, Queen Cersei, is she available?” The guard nodded and knocked gently on the door to Cersei’s solar before opening the door a bit to ask Cersei. Sansa easily made out the guard’s request.

“Pardon me, your grace, but the Lady Sansa requests an audience, shall I send her in?” Cersei didn’t answer right away, perhaps wondering what in the world Sansa could possibly want to ask. 

“Send her in.” Sansa hurried past the guard, dipping into a deep curtsy once she stood before Cersei. 

“Sansa, my little dove, sit, what can I do for you?” Sansa glanced at Cersei’s face before taking her seat across the table. The beautiful queen looked more amused than anything else, surely imagining that Sansa was only requesting an audience for some idiotic or frivolous request.

“Thank you for seeing me Your grace, I know you must be very busy, I only wanted- that is to say I was concerned today that- I noticed at court today that…um, that is.” For the first time in Sansa’s life she found that courtesies had failed her. She could never remember being at such a loss for words. 

“Sweetling just speak freely, what is weighing on you?” Sansa saw Cersei’s face flicker with annoyance before the queen could default back to her mask of warmth and kindness. 

Sansa took a deep breath, it’s not like she could make anything worse; with that cold comfort she forged on. “Your Grace, I am worried.” The queen inclined her head in a silent signal for her to continue. “This-This morning after King Joffrey graciously agreed to show my father mercy I became worried that perhaps, given how serious my lord father’s accusations were, that maybe His Majesty might not, might decide that, that is, he might believe that my lord father still deserves to be put to death despite recanting his accusations and agreeing to take the Black.”

Cersei’s smile remained plastered on her face, but it looked as if all the blood had been drained out of it. Sansa realized she wasn’t telling the Queen any new information, but rather confirming the older woman’s worst fears. 

There was no one in all of Westeros who understood Joffrey more than his mother. She had raised him for sixteen years and knew better than anyone what he was capable of. She knew he wouldn’t be satisfied by Eddard Stark’s confession, nor would he find Lord’s Starks banishment to the Wall humiliating enough. Joffrey was out for blood. And the fact that stupid little Sansa was here in her solar telling her that she too believed that Joffrey would kill Lord Stark meant that the queen could no longer pretend she didn’t know what the King was likely to do once he had Lord Stark in front of the Sept. 

Cersei released a heavy sigh before slumping against the back of her chair. She dropped her head on her hand, a look of deep exhaustion seemed to overcome her all at once. Sansa was taken aback before she realized, as taxing as this whole situation had been on her, it must have been equally burdensome on the Queen.   
Cersei had to defend her son’s birthright and announce to the kingdom that one of the most famous and trusted lords in the land was a traitor. The red head felt a small bubble of hope come to life in her chest. If Cersei was as exhausted as she was that means that she would want this whole affair put in the past as quickly as possible and might be more willing to help her get her father back home to the North where he had always belonged. 

“I was thinking perhaps, you don’t want to see my father dead, otherwise you would not have convinced the King to make the deal allowing my father to go to the Wall. So maybe you could help me convince King Joffrey to allow my father to go to the Wall and then we can all put this awful affair behind us.” Cersei raised her eyebrows, shocked at Sansa’s bold words. She waved her hand at Sansa again silently gesturing for her to continue. “I was thinking that perhaps the best way ensure to my beloved Joffrey does not execute my father is to help him move on from this whole incident, get his mind onto other matters so that he might not feel such a strong need for retribution.”

“And what did you have in mind my little dove”

“A wedding, or rather, our wedding.”

Cersei’s head fell from her hand in shock. Not in all her life would she have expected that answer. But before she could dismiss it out of hand she paused. While under normal circumstances Sansa was far too young to be wed, the animosity between their two families might provide the perfect excuse for a rushed betrothal; after all what could bring to warring families together as well as a wedding. 

“An interesting suggestion my dear, how exactly would all this work, you are far too young to be wed, and I assume your moon blood still has not come. Tell me, how would you convince the court and King Joffrey that this wedding is the right thing to do?” Cersei wanted to know, how far had Sansa, a girl she had always thought to be too simple to be queen, had planned ahead. 

Sansa straightened in her seat; surprised Cersei had not immediately dismissed her idea. “Well I thought, perhaps people would believe that we had moved up the wedding to prevent any further conflict between our Houses, and um as for my-my moon’s blood, well uhh- I am the only one who would know if it had come or not.   
“I am told it does not always begin in the morning, so it is possible my chamber maids would not know about it. So, we could simply…lie. Tell the people it has come, and we decided to take advantage of my womanhood to bring our families together and stabilize the kingdoms. Meanwhile King Joffrey will move on from my father and can focus on the wedding and all the celebrations.” 

Cersei regarded Sansa with a cold eye, surprised that the little girl had that much manipulation within her. Admittedly it wasn’t much but still far more than the Queen had ever expected of her. 

“Well, it seems you have thought this through quite a bit, but I still see two small little hindrances. You see Joffrey too will need to believe that your moon’s blood has come, which means not only will he be expecting to bed you, he will also be expecting a child. How do you plan to meet his expectations?”  
Sansa froze. While she had known she might have to bed Joffrey she hadn’t thought that she might have to provide him with a child as well. 

“Well your grace, of course I would be prepared to do my duty as a wife. All I have ever wanted was to be the perfect queen for Joffrey. I know I would have to bed Joffrey on our wedding night even though I am not yet a woman. As for a baby, we could um, perhaps because of my youth it might be more difficult for me to take a babe, or um or I know, ahh I mean that I am aware, that King Robert, he um had several…dalliances.” Sansa could not think of anything more uncomfortable than talking with the Queen. The late King Robert had been famous for the number of whores he had copulated with and bastards he fathered, but that didn’t mean Sansa ever wanted to discuss them with his scorned wife. 

“And I know that several children resulted from these…dalliances, so perhaps there might be a woman who is still with his child and perhaps we could pretend they were mine. If it were a girl! I mean, I-of course, I would never try to make anyone other than Joffrey’s progeny the heir. But I believe a girl, one who looked like King Robert might buy us some time until my moon blood really comes, and I can give Joffrey a true born heir. But in the meantime, a daughter might divert anyone’s suspicion.” 

Sansa was almost out of breath. She could hardly believe what had come out of her mouth, not only had she agreed to bed Joffrey before she even became a woman, she had suggested deceiving the entire kingdom. She could only imagine how ashamed her father, the ever-honorable Ned Stark, would feel about her willingly engaging in such a widespread conspiracy. 

Cersei regarded the young lady sitting across from her. Although the queen tried not to show it, there were traces of disbelief on her famously beautiful face. How could Sansa, who had never once hinted at being more that a docile little pawn, come up with this whole plan by herself.

Admittedly it was not the subtlest of plans, and surely there would be more than a few that would see straight through it. More than that, it required several moving parts. Faking a pregnancy would involve not only finding one of Roberts whores and praying the day the baby would, not only be due would be feasible given Sansa and Joffrey’s wedding date, but also be a girl, something that would be almost impossible. The plan also required that they trust several ladies-in-waiting, whoever went out to find the bastard child, the babe’s mother, and the Maester that would “deliver” Sansa’s child with a secret that could ruin Joffrey’s claim on the throne and the entire Lannister family. 

There were so many things that could go wrong. And too many things had already gone wrong to put everyone in the position they all found themselves in. However, Sansa’s plan did bring a few benefits that their previous agreement with Lord Stark did not. While Lord Stark went to the Wall, Sansa’s continued presence would ensure that he stayed there and that none of his sons or the other lords would risk Sansa’s life trying to avenge their liege lord’s honor. 

With Sansa married to Joffrey and, as far as anyone would know, with child, it might make the Northern lords even more hesitant to launch an attack as the baby would be a Stark as well as a Lannister, or rather Baratheon as most would believe. Another unexpected perk of Sansa’s plan was that if they found one of Robert’s bastards, they would most likely have black hair and blue eyes. Were Sansa and Joffrey, two people with some of the fairest coloring in the kingdom, to have a black-haired blue-eyed child just as all the Baratheon’s were, it might put to bed any speculations as to her children’s true parents. 

The little dove’s plan might actually work.

Sansa had done her best not to fidget under Cersei’s prolonged stare, but it had not been easy. Whatever the queen said next could determine the fate of her entire family and, although Sansa didn’t want to think about her plan in such dramatic terms, the fate of the entire Kingdom. 

Moreover, she was just starting to realize what her plan would actually mean. She would have to marry Joffrey. She would have to bed Joffrey. She was only ten and three. Her mother had barely told her what happens on a wedding day. All she knew was that both parties were naked, the bride would bleed a little bit, and if all went well within a few months the couple would know if there was a babe on the way. 

What was she supposed to do? What was she expected to do? What would Joffrey do to her? Would he hurt her? She knew he had been rumored to have beaten and terrified some of the whore that visited his chambers. But those where whores right? Surely, he wouldn’t dare to hurt a woman of her standing. 

Or maybe, maybe he would hurt her worse because of her standing; because of how her father had humiliated her. She might free her father but that didn’t mean the Starks wouldn’t be punished. Only instead of her father, it would be her that would bear the burden of his treason. Sansa honestly wasn’t sure if she was strong enough to withstand it, she knew almost no one in her family would have believed her strong enough. The walls of the solar felt as though they were closing in, crushing her within the lion’s den. Each breath seemed harder to pull in than the one before it and her eyes began to burn with unshed tears. Sansa just wanted to go home.

For good or bad, it seemed she wouldn’t have a choice anymore, as Cersei opened her mouth to respond to Sansa’s plan. 

“Well well my dove, I never would have thought you would have devised such a plan. But it seems that little Lady Sansa has come with a solution to all my problems. You are correct I do not want to see your father killed; it would cause too much trouble too early in Joffrey’s reign.

“So tomorrow, after your father confesses to his crimes and agrees to take the Black, we will announce your wedding. It will take a few days to plan, so in the meantime I shall have someone search to see if Robert left any pregnant whores. If he cannot find one, we will either have to see if there are any Lannister bastards we can use. 

“As for the ceremony, I expect Joffrey will want to have it as soon as possible, I’d plan on the day after next. I shall arrange for seamstresses to be sent to your chambers straight after the sentencing to prepare a dress. Your father will be gone by the time you are actually wed so he will be unable to attend, as such either my father or one of my brothers will accompany you into the Sept. After that you will be expected to perform all the duties of a wife on her wedding day, the chamber maids will check. 

“Gods willing your moon’s blood will come soon and you will be able to provide Joffrey with a true heir and we can send the bastard girl to foster somewhere. Only I and a few trusted people will know the truth. You understand that towards the end of your ‘pregnancy’ your movements will be restricted, we can’t have anyone finding out that babe’s not yours. If you tell anyone I will have you killed and then I will have my father’s armies march on the North and kill everyone in your family.” Cersei’s words were so cold as she uttered her last words that Sansa would have believed the Queen had come from North of the Wall just to issue her threat. 

Sansa sat silently in the chair during the queen’s speech. Her body was pierced in two. One half hopeful the other despondent. The deal was struck. Her father would live. He would find Arya and the two of them would go back to her mother, to Robb and Bran and Rickon. And she never would. 

It was ironic. When Jon had left for the Wall, she had thought she could never imagine ever choosing to leave her family forever, to be willing give up any hope at finding love. And yet here she was, only a year later signing away her life. 

“Of course, your grace, I’ll never breathe a word to anyone, ever. But, if it please your grace, I know it will be difficult for me to go home- I mean go North, once Joffrey and I are married, I only ask that I be allowed to see my father once more before he is sent to the Wall.” Sansa did her best to look as pitiable as possible; head down, eyes gazing up through her lashes, finally allowing one of the many tears she had been holding off for days to fall down her cheek. It seemed to work.

“I will allow it, sweet Sansa, but only after he confesses. The two of you will have a few moments together before your father is taken by the Wandering Raven back North. After that you will need to be seen returning to the Keep with Joffrey. Also, sweetling I believe it is best to tell you this now, I’m afraid due to your father’s crimes and the implications of this arrangement we have put together, you will not be permitted to write to your family, or anyone until you have carried Joffrey’s heir, and then only under my supervision. Do you understand?”

Sansa could only nod feeling as though her bones were shattering with grief. The tears were burning her eyes. She had never imagined she wouldn’t be allowed to even write her family, though in hindsight perhaps she should have seen that coming. She needed to leave. She needed to get out of Cersei’s solar that moment or she felt as though she might die. 

“My apologies your Grace, may I take my leave. I think I must retire for the night and prepare for tomorrow” She could barely keep her voice from breaking. Every moment spent maintaining her composure required more discipline than she had ever needed in her entire life.

“Of course, my little dove, sleep well, we have a big day tomorrow.”

Sansa fled before her heart could break again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Second chapter up. Yay! Please comment or leave kudos, it gives me life. Not sure when the third one will be up (but it's already written)


	3. Reality

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: Sexual Assault

Sansa couldn’t hold her tears in for long. By the time she had left the royal family’s wing, she could barely control her breathing, let alone the tears coursing down her face. 

Unfortunately, as seemed to be the trend this month, the gods were not on her side as she found herself crossing paths with several groups of nobles. Each time she did her best to regain her composure, but it was a lost cause. No one would mistake her puffy red eyes and hitching breath for anything other than total despair. 

When she finally made it back to her rooms in the Hand’s Tower she could barely move. It seemed as though she had literally wept out any of her remaining energy. 

Without a thought to her hair or dress she flung herself on the bed. She buried her head in her pillows and let out an agonizing wail. 

In the space of one hour she had agreed to marry a man who she was quickly learning was secretly a monster and to never see her beloved family again. It was as though some demon had gone into her daydreams and twisted them into some awful reality. 

She had dreamed of her wedding day ever since she was a young girl and had stumbled on her mother’s wedding dress. The young Sansa had thought it was the single most spectacular piece of clothing she had ever seen. Not a stitch out of place and not a penny spared on lace and pearls. She could only imagine how splendid her already beautiful mother had looked on that day as she walked up to her betrothed, the handsome and noble Ned Stark. 

Knowing since she was a girl that her marriage would be arranged, Sansa has clung to her mother’s tale of how she had initially been wary of the Quiet Wolf, especially when she had been intended for the dashing Brandon Stark. However, as Catelyn had revealed on particularly frigid morning, after a year of living together and doting over the infant Robb, the two had found a beautiful friendship and eventually a deep love for each other. And it was through that love that little Sansa was born. Sansa had especially loved hearing about the part where her father was so joyful the morning she had been born that he had ordered the bells at Winterfell the be rung all day. 

It was Sansa’s greatest dream that her husband might one day find the same love in their marriage and that he might adore their children as much as her father did. She doubted that would happen with Joffrey. She could not imagine Joffrey wearing a whole in the floor outside the birthing chamber as she remembered her father doing when Rickon was born. Joffrey was more likely to laugh when their child fell, than tenderly hold their hand as they stumbled through their first steps. 

In fact, now that she was thinking about it, if she had her way, Joffrey would never spend more than a moment alone with their children. She couldn’t decide which was worse: that he might one day unleash his ire on them and hurt them terribly, or that he might corrupt them, and she would be forced to watch her beloved children be turned into monsters.

She had always believed her whole family would be at her wedding, her father would give her away to her husband as her siblings watched and her mother wept. She imagined her father might leak a few tears as well. 

Now she would be wed within the week and she would be all alone. She wouldn’t be able to share a dance with any of her brothers and she wouldn’t be able to shove Arya into the frilliest dress she could find for the occasion, as had always been her plan. She wasn’t sure she even wanted to dance with Joffrey and there certainly no other nobles at court that she would want to share a song with. 

And gods what would her family even think of her, marrying such a monster, someone who had wanted to behead their father. She had practically drooled over Joffrey at Winterfell and chose his side over Arya’s at Torrhen’s Inn. And worst of all she had written that awful letter to Robb calling their father a traitor-something no one who knew him would ever believe. They would think she betrayed their family for a pretty boy and a crown. 

Loyalty was paramount in the North, not just because of culture but because of the treacherous conditions; you had to be able to trust your neighbors and your lords if you were going to survive the Winters. 

As if rubbing salt into her broken heart she heard her mother’s Tully words ringing in her ear at that very moment. Family, Duty, Honor. They would think she had abandoned each one. 

Or at best they would think her a complete dolt who didn’t even understand what message marrying Joffrey after her father’s accusations might say about what she thought of her father or her family. That she didn’t understand that in one day she could condemn her father to a lifetime of being seen a traitor. 

While she knew her family loved her deeply, she had always known that outside lessons they never thought of her as the brightest or the most capable of their children. As a young girl Sansa had always tried her best to be perfect for her parents. ‘A lady at three’ was her mother’s favorite description for her. But no matter how hard she tried; she could never seem to be quite what they wanted. 

She saw Robb, the perfect little lord, who excelled in all his classes, mastered horse-riding and various weapons and earned everyone’s respect. Her brother did everything mother and father had ever asked of him and they were so proud of him for it. Robb was her closest sibling, mostly due to the fact that as the oldest boy and girl they found themselves in similar positions. 

Robb endured under the stress of having to inherit Winterfell from their father who was beloved by almost all the lords of the North and had been the best friend of the King. Not to mention one of the heroes or Robert’s Rebellion who had fought valiantly to avenge his murdered father and brother and stolen sister and had defeated Arthur Dyne the best swordsman in the land. His was a big shadow and on more than one occasion Robb had confided in her that he felt as though he would never escape it and that the Northern lords would always see him as ‘Ned’s pup’ rather than a leader in his own right. 

Sansa was in a similar and yet vastly different situation. While Robb had not known how he could ever be Lord of Winterfell after their father, Sansa had been petrified by the knowledge that one day, she would have to leave Winterfell and be an untested outsider in some other lords home. And once there she would have to take over running the house, just as her mother had done when she came to Winterfell. 

While Robb had to strive to prove himself a worthy Northern son against the black mark of their southern mother, Sansa would most likely marry a southern lord, as there were almost no northern lords with whom a marriage would befit her station. She was the first daughter of a Lord Paramount and the Warden of the North. As such she would marry the son of a man who would be equally powerful in the Seven Kingdoms. She had narrowed her potential husbands down to barely a handful. 

Prince Joffrey was the most obvious choice especially given their fathers’ friendship. There was also Willas Tyrell the future lord of Highgarden and the most powerful lord in the Reach, and Qynden Martell the future Prince of Dorne. The heir to the Riverlands was her uncle Edmure Tully and the heir the Vale was Robyn Arryn and her cousin, both were therefore out of the running, especially as familial marriages has gone wildly out of style after the incestuous Targaryeans had been overthrown. Lord Stannis who ruled over Dragonstone had only had a daughter and even if he sired a son by the time, he was old enough to be married she would most likely have already had several children. Stannis’s younger brother Lord Renly ruled Dragonstone and had not fathered any children. 

The only other option in all the Seven Kingdoms was her father’s ward, or hostage if she was being honest with herself, Theon Greyjoy. Once she had entertained several dreams of their possible marriage. He was her brother’s best friend, a man raised by her father, she would not find another man so close to her own family. But as soon she had learned of his father Balon Greyjoy’s rebellion and how little her father trusted or liked the Iron Islands she knew she would never marry Theon. With Joffrey, Willas and Qynden as her only realistic options she knew she would be going south for her marriage. This meant that unlike Robb who had to throw off the south, Sansa had to cast her northern home aside.

Sansa had made herself fall in love with southern songs, fashions, and customs. She told herself that the northern winds were too harsh, the snows too cold, that the mountains were cruel and that there was nothing beautiful north of the Neck. She convinced herself that Northern customs were barbaric and that their aversion to tourneys and balls was not practicality but simple unwillingness to having any fun. 

She went to the Sept every day to ensure that she wouldn’t miss the Godswood in case her future lord didn’t follow the old gods. She tried to stay apart from her siblings so that she might not miss them if she was unable to return to the north very often. Admittedly she was not as good at staying away from them as she’d like. 

While she did this to protect herself from the future heartbreak it did nothing to protect her heart from the judgement of the Northerners, especially her father.   
She knew he thought she was too southern, that she was no wolf. But Sansa had needed to think about her future, and it wouldn’t be in the North. It would be with people who thought the Northerners were uncivilized savages, dull and severe. And she knew she would always be an outsider for that, just as her mother was always an outsider in the North. 

But it seemed the more she prepared herself for life in the south, the more she disappointed her father. While her little sister was always jealous of the adoration Sansa received during lessons from Mother, the Septa and Maester Lunwin, Arya never seemed to notice how brightly their father smiled when he saw Arya running around in stolen trousers trying desperately to break free of the mold of a noble lady. 

Sansa had never broken any rules, but it seemed like her obedience was what made her a disappointment to Lord Stark, who never saw any of the willfulness or wildness in her that had seemed inherent to all northern born children. 

Instead he was left with a perfect southern lady and his ignorance over the feminine arts meant that he never understood just how hard Sansa had to work to get her embroidery perfect, to get her pronunciation of Dornish and Valaryian words perfect, to dance and play the harp perfectly. And he never understood how important all that would be for a young girl that would one day be left alone in the south. Alone without her pack. 

A knock on her door interrupted her ruminations. She barely had time to flip over on her bed to face the door before Joffrey and three of his guards burst into her room. 

Joffrey sauntered in front of his guards, proudly showing off about how he could storm into his betrothed’s room without a care for tradition or decorum, as was the power of the King. Sansa all but jumped off her bed, quickly dipping into a curtsy before the King.

“Mother just told me the good news. You have finally become a woman. It’s about time, I was getting impatient.” 

Truly Sansa had no idea what he was talking about, if King Robert were still alive, they would not have even considered marriage for at least another two or three years. “Now mother says we’re to wed the day after tomorrow. You must be happy, you’re about to become my Queen just as you said you always wanted.”  
Sansa barely needed to think before responding to Joffrey. At all times it was best to play to his ego, especially when he was clearly so desperate for it. 

“Of course, my beloved King. There is nothing I want more than to be your wife and give you beautiful blue-eyed princes. I’m sure each of your children will be as much a lion as you are.” 

Joffrey had always preferred being called a lion to a stag, as was the symbol of his father’s house. It was odd Sansa realized; all noble children she knew of took to their father’s house rather than their mothers, but Joffrey was nothing less than a Lannister lion. 

The King in question nodded as if this were the most obvious answer.

“It’s about time you lose that cursed Stark name, it’s shameful being associated with someone who shares their name with a man who would see me off the Iron Throne.”

“Of course, my King and I’m sure our wedding will be most splendid, I know all the couriers will be thrilled to see you wed. I myself am very much looking forward to seeing how handsome you will be on our wedding day.” 

In all her songs and stories this would be the part where the gallant prince protests and insists that there be no one more eye-catching at the wedding than his beloved bride. However, as Joffrey had proved time and time again, he was not that type of man, and no truthful song would ever call the man gallant. 

“Yes, I’ve already had the seamstresses begin working on my doublet, and I’ve been thinking of commissioning a new sword for the occasion. A King should have the very best on his wedding day. Now, tell me. You say you are prepared to be my wife and bare my children, but you prepared to do so immediately? You know what I expect on my wedding day? You must act as my wife in all ways. All ways.” 

Joffrey had slipped far closer to Sansa than was appropriate. She was determined not to give him the satisfaction of stepping away from him but couldn’t stop herself from leaning as far away from him as she could get without falling over. 

“Yes, my beloved King, I am prepared to do my duty as your wife”

Apparently, that was the wrong thing to say. Anger flashed in his blue eyes. He grabbed her wrist, yanking her closer to him. She felt him slip his knee between her legs and press his chest against hers. His breath smelled strongly of red wine and just in that moment Sansa could never imagine wanting to drink wine again. He was clutching her wrist so tightly she could almost feel the bones grinding against each other, there was sure to be a bruise tomorrow. 

“You’re ‘prepared’ to do your duty? ‘Prepared?’ You do realize you are about to marry a King, yes? Do you know how many girls dream of marrying me? You should be honored, eager, instead you are ‘prepared’.”

“Apologies your grace, of course I am most honored to become your wife and very much looking forward to our wedding night. I only thought it might seem improper for me to appear over eager. You must know how devoted I am to you.” 

Sansa wasn’t sure if she was laying the flattery on a little thick, but it seemed as though there was no such thing as over-doing it when it came to the self-centered King. 

Joffrey’s grip on her wrist loosened marginally after her response but he seemed to be enjoying his chance to be so close to her. He gave her a lewd look down her figure before pulling her body flush against his. 

“How eager I wonder? Perhaps we can, prepare, ourselves right now. I am the King. No one would dare speak out against us.” 

Sansa could feel terror crawl up her spine as she realized what Joffrey was referring to. She was alone in her chambers with only Joffrey and his guards; all of whom were giving her the same look he was. 

They were more likely to hold her down for Joffrey than help her get away from him. 

The hand Joffrey wasn’t using to hold her wrist stroked Sansa’s cheek before trailing down her face and neck before grasping at her almost non-existent breasts. He groped them for a moment before also forcing his lips on hers, muffling her fearful whimper. If possible, Sansa stiffened even more. Her mind flashed back to something Robb had told her when he had noticed how even in her youth Sansa had drawn the eye of many. 

“If a man ever-ever tries to-ever disrespects you, there are a few things you can do to make him go away, but the easiest way, for you at least, is ah, you’ll want to use your knee or foot to kick him between the legs. At the very least that should give you a moment to get away. After that you come find me” He had grasped her by the shoulders and drew her near, “You come find me and I’ll put him in his place. You are Sansa Stark of Winterfell and no one should treat you as any less than that, anyone who would, doesn’t even deserve to look at you.” He had given her a kiss on her forehead before he slung his arm over her shoulder and walked her into the great hall for supper. 

In that moment, feeling Joffrey’s growing manhood press against her stomach and his hand groping her breast, she could think of no one in the world she would like to see more than her big brother. She felt a flicker of joy imagining how Robb, who’s temper was only bested by Arya’s, would react upon seeing how Joffrey was manhandling her. 

She almost forgot where she was at the thought of what Joffrey’s face would look like should she take Robb’s advice and kick him between the legs. As she tried to somehow squirm away from Joffrey’s molestations without offending him, she promised herself that one day she would do just that. 

Until then she was trapped. It was all she could to not to break out of Joffrey’s arms and start running straight to Winterfell. 

Just as Joffrey’s hand began to make its way further down her body, the evening bell rang and thankfully seemed to kill Joffrey’s lust. He stepped away from her but not before giving her another skin crawling look. Sansa was getting tired of feeling like she was about to burst into tears, but it was starting to seem like it would be a new constant in her life. 

She could barely look at Joffrey as he left her room without so much as a good night. The redhead’s legs gave out from under her and for the second time that day, she burst into tears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry there's not much plot progression but I wanted to explore Sansa's feelings in the situation and have a first interaction between her and Joffrey. I have about 30 chapters written (the story turned out much longer than I originally anticipated) I'm hoping to have a Wednesday/Sunday updating schedule.


	4. His Sentencing

Sansa stood atop the stairs in front of the Great Sept of Baelor with the royal party. The day seemed to mock her, epitomizing everything she had grown to loath about King’s Landing and the south. 

Even in her light southern robes the air was sweltering, and her intricate southern hairstyle only exacerbated how uncomfortable she was. The stench of King’s Landing was enough to make her feel faint. Various odors of piss, shit, liquor and sweat emanated from the crowd of commoners in front of her. Sansa could not recall having ever seen so many people gathered in one place, but it seems her father’s disgrace was enough to draw the attention of everyone in the capitol. 

It made her sick. The thought that people had come just to see everything her father had ever worked for stripped away with just a few sentences, as if it were a spectacle. And the commoners were not alone in their desire for entertainment. The nobles of King’s Landing had crowded onto the balconies behind the steps. It seemed everyone was in the mood to see an honest man humiliated. 

Cersei and Joffrey stood to the left of her flanked on either side by Lannister guards. Both Royals were decked in red and gold finery. Although Joffrey was wearing the Baratheon crown, styled by King Robert after golden antlers, Sansa noted he maintained his aversion to Baratheon colors. 

Joffrey seemed to have perfected simultaneously reveling in the cheering crowd while also maintaining his look of smug arrogance. Sansa mused that there was no expression that looked more natural on his face than one that made it clear he thought he was better than everyone around him. Joffrey’s face looked especially conceited as the people roared when they brought out Ned Stark in chains. 

Sansa thought her heart stopped at the sight of him. At first, she was relieved. There he was, her father, the strongest, kindest man she knew. He was alive, he was right in front of her. 

But then as she took in his appearance and felt a cold horror overcome her. She had never seen him look so poorly. His hair was greasy and his beard unkempt. His clothes were stained with sweat and dirt. It was impossible to miss the crusted blood coating the bottom of his pants where Jamie Lannister had injured him. She watched as he winced in the face of the strong southern sun, unused to the bright light after a week in the Black Cells. She shuddered to imagine what special torture that constant isolation and darkness was like.

The Lannister guards holding his shackled wrists marched him out the doors and through the mob calling for his blood. 

Sansa couldn’t help but note that he didn’t seem as quick as he usually was, as if he was still affected by the milk of the poppy or had taken a serious blow to the head. However, she did notice his eyes spy and lock on something in the crowd. Emotions flickered across his face, relief, fear, resignation. She followed his line of sight and felt her heart stop for the second time that day.

Arya. 

Her little sister was on one of the statues in the square. Arya seemed to have scrambled through the crowd and was clutching at the feet of Baelor Targaryen trying to get a better look at their father. He in turn seemed to strain against the guards to get to his youngest daughter. 

Eventually Ned was forced to turn his head down as the small people jeered and clawed at him; the guard giving almost no though to Ned’s well-being. 

Sansa kept her eyes on Arya. She hadn't seen or heard from Arya since the Lannister raid and had been wracked with terror thinking about her sister’s fate. But while the redhead was overjoyed to see that her little sister was alive, she couldn’t help but feel alarmed at how dirty and disheveled Arya looked. Her face was covered in grime, her hair in a dreadful state of disarray, and her clothing was nothing more than rags.

Where had Arya been sleeping? Had she even been able to sleep? Gods had she had anything to eat? She watched as Arya gazed longingly at her father. She looked so frightened and so small perched on the statue’s feet. Sansa could only hope that Arya would be able to reunite with their father once he left for the Wall. 

As Ned drew closer Sansa watched him shout something to a man in the crowd. It took her a moment but she recognized him as Yoren, the wandering crow of the Night’s Watch who had come to the Tower of the Hand to meet with her father a few times. She couldn’t make out what her father said but she saw Yoren pause for a second before diving into the crowd, all but shoving people aside as he made his way to Arya. 

When Ned was marched past Sansa she tried to smile. There was no way to convey to her father that she had a plan, but maybe if she looked at ease, he might understand that all would be well. Unfortunately, she could tell her smile was a bit more of a grimace and her father definitely didn’t look any more at ease. She saw him spare a second to shoot a glare at Petyr Baelish. It seemed he too wasn’t a fan of Littlefinger. 

The bells tolled and as if they were a signal the guards around her father walked away, to leave him standing alone before the bloodthirsty crowd. 

“I am Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Hand of the King.” Ned turned to face Sansa. 

She nodded at him again. Please she prayed, please confess and you can go North. You can see Mother and Robb and Bran and Rickon. You can take Arya away from this dreadful city. And then you can go to the Wall and live with Jon and Uncle Benjen. You can be safe away from here just please confess. 

Ned turned back to the crowd. His words filled the air. Everyone in attendance was able to hear his voice waver and break. Sansa hated that they were all able to see him so vulnerable, when his whole life he had fought tooth and nail to be strong and to do the right thing. 

“I come before you to confess my treason, in the sights of gods and men. I betrayed the faith of my King and the trust of my friend Robert, I swore to protect and defend his children, but before his blood was cold I plotted to murder his son and seize the throne for myself.” 

At his words the crowd immediately began jeering. Sansa let out a little shriek as someone even through a rock at his head. She saw Joffrey out of the corner of her eye snickering; clearly enjoying the crowds anger on his behalf and her father’s disgrace. Sansa felt her stomach turn at the defeat in his voice. She just wanted this to be over. 

The rock had caused her father to stumble back but the Hound set him back in his place. However, Sansa couldn’t help but notice that he looked weaker than ever.

“Let the High Septon and Baelor the Blessed bear witness to what I say.” Ned took a deep breath, as if each word physically pained him. “Joffrey Baratheon is the one true heir to the Iron Throne, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm.” 

Joffrey turned to his mother, a triumphant smile across his face. Sansa was immediately reminded of how little baby Rickon would always turn to her mother after getting a word right on his reading practice, desperate for her praise and approval. 

“As-As we sin, so do we suffer.” Maester Pycelle began presiding over the farce of her father’s trial. “This man has confessed his crimes in sight of gods and men, the gods are just but Beloved Baelor taught us they can also be merciful. What is to be done with this traitor, your grace?” 

The crowd continued to jeer at her father and Sansa found it increasingly hard to keep up her calm facade. At this point they were inspiring almost in much hate in Sansa as Joffrey did, immediately began screaming, calling for her father’s head. Joffrey let the crowd roar for blood for a moment before raising his hand silencing them. Gods what Sansa wouldn’t give to wipe that disgusting smirk off his face. He gave her father a disdainful look before announcing his judgement.

“My good mother wishes me to let Lord Eddard join the Night’s Watch, stripped of all titles he would defend and serve the realm in permanent exile. And my Lady Sansa has begged mercy for her father.” 

Sansa mustered up a besotted smile as best she could and nodded at Joffrey. He gave her a long look, clearly contemplating something and for a moment Sansa felt as though a dagger of ice might pierce her heart. 

Was he going to kill her father anyway, despite their wedding the next morn? Suddenly she felt as though her very skin was jumping as her heart began to pound its way out of her chest. Would he be so caught up in the spectacle of the trial and the adoration of the crowds that he would care more for that than the praise he would receive for being merciful towards his new bride?

“But they have the soft hearts of women and so long as I am King treason will never go unpunished. And I would have his head.” Joffrey shouted his last declaration as the mob thundered below him, hungry for an execution. 

“No!” Sansa felt the scream tear its way out of her throat. 

She lunged forward. Towards Joffrey or her father she didn’t know but she had to do something. But before she could take a single step the arm of one of the Lannister guards wrapped around her waist knocking the wind out of her. She struggled against him but it was to know avail. 

“No Joffrey! Please! Please Joffrey! Don’t do this!” Sansa burst into tears, there was nothing she could do. Ser Illyan Payne walked behind her father and knocked his legs out from under him. Ned’s knees slammed on the stone beneath their feet and Ser Illyan forced his head forward, perfectly positioned to be lopped off by Ice, the ancestral sword Sansa had just noticed he was wielding. 

Her father looked panicked before he spotted something in the crowd, then his shoulders seemed to release their tension and his eyes turned down to the floor. For a horrible moment Sansa thought he looked resigned to his fate.

“However,” Joffrey paused dramatically, enjoying the full attention of the crowd, how they hung on his every word. All the commoners, nobles and even his own mother were desperate to hear what he would say next. “I find I cannot disappoint my lovely Sansa so close to our wedding. She became a woman last week and I have decided that for the sake of ending the animosity between our families that we shall be wed tomorrow. As such I will spare her father, my future good-father. Although his crimes warrant his execution. I have chosen mercy, as a wedding gift to my new wife.” 

Sansa collapsed in the guards arms like a puppet with its strings cut. Her father would live. Her plan had worked. 

As she regained her strength and raised her head she found herself facing her father’s horrified expression. His mouth was hanging open, brow furrowed. Sansa couldn’t keep looking at him, ashamed that he might think she would betray him in such a way. Instead she looked at Joffrey who, in a miracle deserving of intense study by Maesters and Septons alike, had found a way to look even more self-satisfied than before. 

The redhead quickly regained her composure. She knew what he expected. Extracting herself from the guards arm, which had loosened once she stopped trying to lunge towards her father, she made her way past Cersei, who seemed to be recovering from the shock of Joffrey’s dramatics in her own time, to stand before Joffrey. She sunk to her knees before him and bowed her head. He would appreciate as much submission from her as possible at this point. 

“My beloved King Joffrey, I thank you for your mercy on this day. I know my father’s treason is unforgivable and that for his actions he deserves to die and it would be your right to take his head.” Sansa had to swallow a little bile that had risen in her throat. “But you have chosen to be the better man today and spare my father and for that I will be eternally grateful. I promise to show you my gratitude every day and to be the best wife and queen for you that I can.”

Sansa felt everyone’s gaze burning into her back. Particularly strong was the glare of her father who she was doing everything she could to avoid looking at. Joffrey smiled down at her before offering her his hand and helping her stand. He drew her to his side to face the crowd.

“Tomorrow we will be wed at the altar in the Sept of the Baelor, and my Lady Sansa will become Sansa Lannister, Queen of the Seven Kingdoms.” He linked their hands and held them together over their heads as the crowd roared in approval. Sansa did her very best to avoid actually seeing anything as she stared out at the mass of commoners before her. The last thing she wanted was to see Arya’s face. She couldn’t imagine how furious her little sister would be with her, how disappointed. 

Sansa saw some guards pick her father up and drag him off the stage, hopefully to the Night’s Watch station from which he could finally ride north. Joffrey kept her standing before the crowd for an eternity and a half before Cersei came up next to them. 

“My dear perhaps it is time to retire to the Keep. We have much to do to prepare for your wedding. Sansa in particular needs to be fitted for her gown.” Cersei shared a pointed look with Sansa, clearly she had something else planned for Sansa instead of measurements for her gown.

“Certainly mother. You see to Sansa and the wedding, I have much more important things to do.” With a final wave to the crowds Joffrey spun around and sauntered down the steps and back towards the palace. 

Cersei linked her arm with Sansa and escorted her down the way her father had been taken. Ah so that was it. Cersei was fulfilling her promise and Sansa would be allowed to bid her father goodbye before she was locked in the Red Keep for the rest of her days.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who took the time to read this! This story has turned out a lot longer than I originally intended (I've got about 150,000 words written and it's still not done) but I hope you enjoy.


	5. Ned

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ned's Perspective

Ned was trying his hardest, but he honestly couldn’t remember a time when he was more confused or terrified than today. 

Not two minutes ago he had literally had his head on the chopping block. He had looked at Sansa and Arya and prayed that they would be safe. He had thought of Catelyn, Benjen, Robb, Jon, Bran, and Rickon and was devastated that he would never see them again. He remembered his mother and father, Brandon, and Lyanna and spared a moment to be glad he would finally be reunited with them. He had closed his eyes and said good-bye to the world. He wasn’t going to lie; he had pissed himself a little in terror. 

And now he was alive, he felt like he might have a heart attack, but he was alive. 

Spending the better part of a week in the Black Cells, deep within the bowels of the Red Keep had wrecked him. He had spent every moment of his time imprisoned in a state of mild panic as he thought of the fate of his family, most especially, his daughters. How could everything have gone so wrong?

Not a year ago he was happier than he had ever dreamed of being. 

He was in love with his magnificent wife Catelyn who had adapted to life in the North better than anyone had expected. He was blessed with the opportunity to watch all six of his beautiful children grow up. Robb, his eldest, was everything a Lord and father could ask for in an heir; he was smart, strong, and kind, he loved the North and would make an excellent Warden. Jon, his nephew who he loved as a son had grown up so strong and proud despite being labeled a bastard and who never grew jealous of his siblings or bitter towards his father and instead worked every day to improve his lot in life. Sansa, his first daughter and his first child born of love, was graceful and kind and would grow to be a greater beauty than her lady mother. Arya, rebellious Arya who was like looking into the past and seeing his little sister Lyanna, rejected anything and everything that had to do with being a lady and Ned was looking forward to her forging her own way in the world. Then there was Bran, who laughed and giggled his way through life, always looking to make more mischief. Lastly there was baby Rickon, if ever there was a born wolf it was his youngest who took every opportunity to run wild. It sometimes took Robb and Jon literally holding the boy down to get him to do anything he didn’t want. 

But now, Ned had been stripped of all his titles and would most likely never be allowed to Winterfell again. Now Robb, a boy of ten and six, had summoned the banners and marched south to the Riverlands, prepared to make war with the Lannisters. Jon was at the Wall, surrounded by murderers, thieves, and rapists and was committed to a life of never knowing the love of a wife or of being a father. Sansa, gods Sansa, what was she thinking marrying Joffrey, how could she not know even now what a monster he was. In a wild twist of fate Arya was actually the child he was least worried about, Yoren would bring her to him and they would ride north together. Perhaps most devastating of all was Bran, the once active and hopeful boy was condemned to a life of being carried from room to room. Meanwhile, Robb had written him to say how wrecked Rickon was as one by one each of his family members left him alone at Winterfell. 

As Ned was marched through the boiling streets of King’s Landing his thoughts drifted back to the conversation, he had with Varys the day before. The bald eunuch had told him that Sansa had knelt before Joffrey in the throne room and begged for his life and as a result, Ned was faced with an offer. Either he falsely confesses to treason and be exiled to the Wall, or he maintains his innocence and forfeit Sansa’s life, and Arya’s if they found her.   
It had been an easy choice, although standing before the people of King’s Landing and claiming that Joffrey was the one true heir to the Iron Throne was more painful than he had anticipated. 

But he had heard nothing of Sansa marrying Joffrey. She was three and ten. Nowhere near old enough to get married. And he didn’t care what Joffrey said, there was no way Sansa was a woman yet. He didn’t know if it was paternal protectiveness that didn’t want to face his little girl growing up or that it felt to conveniently timed but he knew in his heart of hearts, his little girl was still just a girl, and nowhere near ready to be married. 

Something more had to be going on, something even Varys the Spider was unaware of. His daughter’s display of devotion to the King even after Joffrey feigned taking his head was what made him the most suspicious. His daughter had always been a little naive, but despite Arya’s penchant for calling her ‘stupid Sansa,’ his eldest daughter was not in fact dumb. Instead it was quite the opposite. Of all of his children she had always done the best in her studies and had always been the best at reading social situations. 

How could she, after yet another one of Joffrey’s cruel displays, still kneel before him and promise to love him and be a dutiful wife?   
Something else had to be in play. Maybe she Joffrey had threatened her, maybe some other player, someone like the deceptive Petyr Baelish, was making a move. Whatever the case, it seemed as though Sansa was in more danger than ever before, for as he and Arya would be returning home, Sansa would be left behind in this hellhole with a man who was sure to hurt her. Worst of all, he couldn’t think of a single thing he could do to save her. 

It seemed he had been lost in his fears over Sansa’s actions and fate for longer than he thought as he and the Lannister guards escorting him had already arrived at the Night’s Watch station in King’s Landing. While theoretically it was a recruitment office, it ended up being used more as a temporary holding cell for those criminals who took the Black rather than face death, maiming or life in prison, than for actually inspiring people to join of their own free will. With that though Ned felt as though someone had poured a bucket of freezing water over his head. 

Now that was him. He was just another criminal awaiting transport to the Wall. 

The black building was glaringly out of place among the light sandstone buildings typical of King’s Landing. It was as harsh and imposing as Ned recalled the Wall itself being. Ned could never have understood how Benjen could have willingly chosen to serve there and as each day passed, he found himself regretting letting Jon join his uncle. 

Now Ned was grateful they were there, along with Lord Jeor Mormont. Having his younger brother, the boy he had raised as a son, and an old friend, at the Wall might make vowing to never go home to his family again that much more bearable. The guards burst through the doors, making the one clerk who worked year-round in the building fall out of his chair in fright. Without so much as a hello, the guards demanded the keys to the cells and marched him downstairs. Ned barely had time to catch a glimpse of three young boys waiting on a bench by the clerk’s desk, one of whom looked eerily familiar, before he was whisked away.

The cells were kept in the basement and received almost none of the south’s harsh sun. As a result, they were actually pleasantly cool, if not a bit damp. There were two cells, both empty but clearly intended to be able to hold over twenty men. There was no bed or bench, and only a small chamber pot in the darkest corner of each cell.

Ned found himself relaxing a little now that he was out of the sweltering heat. The former Lord of Winterfell found himself bodily thrown into prison before the guards left. 

Every bone in his body ached. He thought he would be done with battles and politicking after the Greyjoy rebellion. Now he was just too old for the games.

Ned dragged his body over to lean against the wall. There was nothing he could do but wait for Yoren to bring Arya to the Night’s Watch outpost. His head was swimming with countless thoughts, but after a week of almost no food or water, alongside the blood loss from his leg and the rock someone had decided to throw at his head, the former lord found he was having a great deal of trouble thinking clearly. 

Thankfully, the clerk, who Ned now saw to be a young man in his early twenties, with dark hair and a nose that had been broken more than once, came down and offered him some bread and water. As plain as the meal was, it was better than Ned had received all week. And even better now that he knew Arya was alive and neither he nor Sansa were about to be killed, Ned found he could actually stomach it. The water did much to clear his mind, especially after he poured some over his head to cool himself off. 

Far sooner than he anticipated Ned heard the creak of the basement door open again. Only this time it wasn’t the dark head of the clerk that he saw descending the stairs but a head of bright flaming Tully red hair that could only belong to one person. At the sight of her father, Sansa leapt over the final steps, her skirts flying around her, and threw herself against the bars of his cell. 

“Da, Da, please are you alright are you okay? Did they hurt you? How is your leg? Does it still pain you? Please Da tell me you’re well.” Sansa was barely allowing time to take a breath before the next question rushed out of her.

As she approached Ned had pushed himself off the wall and was pressed up against the bars as she was. Reaching through them to grasp her hand. 

“Sansa, Sansa, SANSA! Calm down. I’m alright, well I’ll be alright. What happened today? Why are you and Joffrey getting married so soon? You’re not even a woman yet. I don’t care what Joffrey says. You must know Sansa you must see now what type of man he is. He would see me dead, he would see your brother dead how can you still marry him?”

Sansa let out a little cross between a hiccup and a sob. Up close Ned could see the toll the past week had taken on his eldest daughter. Her eyes were red and puffy with dark purple circles under them. Her hair, while twisted into a complicated style, looked oilier that Ned had ever seen Sansa let it get and her nails were bitten to the quick. 

Sansa’s shoulders were trembling as she knelt before him, straining under the effort to choke down her tears. Her eyes darted around the room, paying specific attention to the stairs she had come down, was she waiting for someone to come down? Scared that someone might come down? He watched her take a deep shuddering breath. She held it for a moment before physically swallowing, steeling herself for what she was about to say.

“It is as my beloved Joffrey said. He felt that as I am now a woman, wedding now would help to end the conflict between our two Houses. I am grateful that he is still willing to marry me after your treason.” Sansa had been doing an excellent job looking anywhere but his face, but now she looked him directly in the eye. It was the look she gave him whenever Catelyn had changed her hair or was wearing a new gown and he was too obtuse to say anything. 

“His grace also thought that he might not be able to trust that, even at the Wall, you wouldn’t try to usurp him, he was concerned that the Wall was not a suitable punishment for you. He thought that because of the severity of your treason you might deserve a more, permanent, punishment than the Wall. 

“But then, of course in his brilliance, he realized, and Queen Cersei agreed, that if he and I were to be married then our houses would be united forever, ending the animosity. It was simply fortuitous that my moon’s blood came at the perfect time. Then because he is so gracious, he decided it would not do for a man to kill is wife’s father on the eve of the wedding, and so he chose to be merciful and spare your life. And besides a wedding helps him take his mind off of the humiliation you caused him, now that we’re getting married so soon, he can focus on more important things.”

Ned paused for a moment as he unwrapped Sansa’s words. Then he drew a sharp breath. 

Oh. 

Oh no Sansa. Gods what had she done? Joffrey would have killed him, and Sansa had figured it out. And somehow, she had convinced Joffrey, or maybe Cersei to orchestrate a sham wedding in order to appease Joffrey and stop the execution. Ned felt his world shatter. His baby, his sweet innocent little Sansa had sacrificed herself, for him, for Arya and Robb. To make sure they all got home safe, even if it meant she would be left behind. 

Gods damn, it he never should have come south. Nothing, nothing good ever happened when the Starks came south. The last Stark woman who had left the North was his sister, and it had started a war that killed thousands and she ended up dead in the Tower of Joy. Now his beautiful daughter was going to be stuck in this cesspool of deception, greed, lust, and violence. Ned’s mind was racing, desperately trying to figure out how to take his daughter home but it was to no avail. Ned had no more allies left in King’s Landing. At least, none that could help him. 

“No, no Sansa tell me you didn’t. You’re not a woman yet, even if you were, you’re barely ten and three. You’re far too young to be wed now. I can’t leave you hear with Joffrey.”

“Da I know I’m young compared to most brides, but I am prepared to do my duty as a wife. And I am so thrilled that I get to marry my beloved Joffrey. It was so gracious of him to allow you to take the Black after your- your treason. I know he will make a fine husband.” 

There were tears pouring down her face as she whispered the last sentence, clearly still worried that someone might overhear them or burst in on their conversation. 

Ned used the hand not gripping his daughter's to stroke her pale tear-soaked cheek and felt her lean into his touch. She was desperate for each second they could share together before he was taken away. Ned found himself astounded at the bravery she showed sacrificing herself for her family, standing strong in the face of the pain Joffrey would almost certainly cause her. 

Ned needed to tell her he knew what she did; that he knew she hadn’t betrayed the family. But before he could the door to the basement banged open and light, but fast footsteps sounded throughout the room. 

Arya, with a dirt smeared and tear streaked face burst into the room. She looked almost as bad as Ned with her hair tangled into knots behind her head and her clothes ratty and torn. While she had beamed at the sight of Ned her expression quickly soured as she caught sight of her older sister. 

“You! You stupid, bloody traitor! How dare you come here! How dare you show your face to father! Why don’t you go back to your stupid bloody king and stay away from us! I hate you! I hate you!” Arya lunged and Sansa. Wailing on the redhead with her tiny but not ineffectual fists. 

Sansa began sobbing again, and barely tried to raise her arms to defend herself.

“Arya! Arya stop it! Stop it right now!” Ned had never wanted to shout at his children but after the events of today he had to make an exception. “Arya let your sister go!” 

Arya had grabbed a fistful of Sansa’s braids and was yanking them around, clearly not in a clear frame of mind.

And who could blame her? His youngest daughter had apparently just spent a week living on the streets waiting to see if her father would be executed. Only to see him almost lose his head and her older sister seemingly pledge her undying loyalty to Ned’s would be executioner. It was enough to push anyone to the brink, let alone a girl of only ten and one. Each of his children had suffered far too much for their young age. He would do anything to save them from these traumas. 

Unfortunately, Ned didn’t have any more time to make peace between Sansa and Arya before Yoren and a city guard came downstairs. Yoren grabbed Arya around the waist and lifted her into the air and away from her sister. Meanwhile the city guard slowly a hand to Sansa to help her up. 

“My lady Sansa, I am afraid I must return you to the Red Keep. The Queen was very firm that we have you back before the fifth bell struck. If you’ll say your goodbyes now.”

Sansa turned towards her father. Her eyes were wide with fear, but she stood with a straight back and Ned began to have a little hope that his sweet Sansa might just survive her time as Joffrey’s wife. 

“Goodbye Father,” Her voice trembled but she forged on, “Please send my love to mother and the others, tell them I’ll miss them at my wedding. I hope I can become a Queen you will be proud of. I love you and I wish you safe travels to the Wall.” She turned to Arya, who was now practically growling by Yoren’s side. “Goodbye Arya.” 

Sansa reached forward and, before Arya could protest, wrapped the tiny girl in a hug before whispering in her ear. “I love you.” 

Sansa pulled away from Arya and fled upstairs before either of her family members could say a word in response. She was quickly followed by the city guard leaving only Arya, Yoren, and Ned in the cells. 

Arya unknowingly copied her older sister’s movements as she too, flung herself against the bars of Ned’s cells, tears flowing freely down her dirty face. Only Arya was still so small that Ned had to crouch down on the floor to be eye level with her. Once again, he reached through the cell doors and grasped his daughter’s hand.

“Arya are you okay? What happened sweetie? Where did you go, why weren’t you with your sister in the palace?” Arya’s face twisted into one of her famous scowls. Her little nose was scrunched up as far as it could go, and her eyes narrowed into slits. It was a look everyone in the Stark family was familiar with.

“Da it was awful! I-I I think they killed Syrio! One of the Lannister men! Syrio was trying to protect me! He told me to run and I-I just left him with to face one of the Lannister’s men! I should’ve stayed to help him gods I’m such a coward! I didn’t stay to help him and now he’s dead!” 

Her tiny body was wracked with sobs as she tried to recount her story. “I ran to-to the stables and there was a boy there and he tried to stop me and I was-I was holding Needle and I turned around, and I swear I didn’t mean to Da I swear but when I turned I, I accidentally I, Needle went right through him! Da I killed him! I swear to you I didn’t mean to kill the boy I swear it! It was an accident!” Arya could barely breathe through her story. Ned ached to hold her in his arms. To hold both his daughters. 

“Arya sweetling, I promise you I’m not mad. Shhh shhh,” He tried to calm her sobs, “Here, listen to me. You were right to run when Syrio told you to. As good as you’ve gotten with the sword, there was no way you could take a trained guard twice your height and weight. You would have just distracted Syrio or gotten in the way. Running away gave Syrio the best chance he had to win against the guard and who knows Syrio is the best swordsman in Braavos, he could very well still be alive. As for the stable boy, I know you would never kill an innocent person in cold blood. I know you, you don’t have that in you. Hey look at me.” Ned reached through the bars again and lifted Arya’s chin so that he met her gray eyes with his. “I love you, and I am so happy to see you safe before me. Now what happened after you left the stables?”

Arya took a deep shuddering breath. “I ran out onto the streets. I was living out in the city until today when I heard they were taking you to the Sept of Baelor. I hadn’t known what had happened to Sansa until then. I was so worried they had killed her and now I wish she had died. How could she marry Joffrey? How could she do that to us after everything he’s done! She’s such a stupid greedy cow! I hate her! I’m glad she’s not coming home with us; let her rot in the south with her stupid prince.” 

Ned gripped her chin tighter. “Never speak of your sister like that again! Do you have any idea wha-” He stopped himself. Sansa hadn’t felt safe enough even with just the two of them in the room to tell him of her deal with the royal family. If Ned told Arya, here in the heart of King’s Landing where Lannister ears were everywhere, would that put her in more danger? He couldn’t risk it. 

“Listen to me,” He spoke in a much softer voice, noting how scared his daughter had gotten after he had started yelling. “There’s a lot going on right now and I’m sorry I can’t tell you all right now. I can’t Arya please don’t ask me.” Ned preemptively cut her off, he didn’t think he could take any more fighting today. “All I can do is promise that your sister loves you. She loves you and she loves me and she loves our whole family. What she’s doing now, it might not make sense and it might   
hurt to see but, on my honor, she is doing this for us.”

Arya gave him a look that promised this conversation wasn’t over but let the issue drop for now. Ned wasn’t even sure if it was because she believed him, or because after the past week she was too tired to argue but either way he was glad for it. 

“What happens now?” Arya looked at him with hopeful eyes. Clearly desperate for him to say that everything would be fine now and that they would go back to Winterfell and everything would be as it was before. What he wouldn’t give not to have to disappoint her. Thankfully Yoren spared him that pain.

“We go north. I’ve got three other lads coming to the Wall that’ll have to be enough for this trip. We leave before first light; I don’t trust the Lannister’s enough to stay here any longer. We’ll stop at Winterfell on the way to drop the young’un off. It should take us a month’s time to get there. Now, I can’t let you out Lord Stark, if the Lannister’s caught wind of it, it would mean my head alongside yours. But if the little lady would like, I can let her sleep in the cell with you.” Ned and Arya both nodded immediately, neither wanting to be separated ever again. “Alright then, I’ll bring down some blankets.”

Ned and Arya didn’t speak when he while he was fetching the blankets. They just basked in each other’s company, satisfied to finally be together and as safe as they could be in King’s Landing. They didn’t have much time alone before Yoren came back downstairs. He was holding a few blankets and pillows. 

He opened the door to Ned’s cell and Arya rushed inside; diving into his waiting arms. Ned immediately wrapped her up in his embrace. Nothing was alright. Robb was still leading an army in the North, Bran would never walk again, Arya had just killed someone, and Sansa would marry Joffrey tomorrow. 

But there was nothing he could do about any of that right now. All he could do was hold his daughter close; feel his heartbeat telling him he was still alive, feel her heartbeat, telling him she had escaped the Lannisters, and pray they would make it out of the city safely. He unfurled one of the blankets as he laid down with Arya on top of him.

Just as he was thinking that after everything that happened today, everything that he still had to worry about in the future, he wouldn’t be able to get any sleep that night, he felt his breath slow down and his eyelids close and before he knew it, he had slipped into a deep sleep.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: graphic description of sexual violence

Sansa fled up the stairs, away from her father and sister. Unable to bear looking back on them, terrified that it could be the last time she ever saw them. When she reached the first floor, she met the stunned faces of three ratty boys sitting on the bench and one clerk sitting behind a desk. They all stared at each other, no one quite sure what to do. The boys had most likely never seen someone dressed as finely as her up close. They had certainly never seen a noble like her ever looking so distraught and in such a state of disarray.

Luckily the awkward moment was ended by the arrival of the gold cloaked guard from the basement. She had been relieved that it was a member of the City Watch instead of one of the Lannister guards that had escorted her to the Night’s Watch outpost. She couldn’t imagine one of the Lannister men watching those few precious moments alone with her father. And while she still hadn’t felt safe enough to reveal the deal she made with Cersei, it had meant the world that she was able to spend those last few minutes with her father without fearing that every word she said would be reported verbatim back to the Queen.

As it was, her reunion with Arya had been less than ideal. She and Arya had never gotten along but she had never imagined that her little sister would ever hate her so much. Sansa had felt her heart break with every blow Arya had landed.

Her only comfort was that it had seemed like her father had understood the deal she had made with Cersei. Sansa wasn’t sure if she wanted her father to tell the rest of their family or not. On one hand it would mean they would know she hadn’t betrayed them, on the other, if the secret got out, it would give Cersei a reason to have them all killed.

Sansa gave a polite nod to the boys and the clerk before the guard escorted her outside. It was a long walk back to the Red Keep and Sansa’s silk slippers were not up to the task. By the time they arrived back at the palace her handmade shoes were covered in muck and grime from the streets that Sansa didn’t want to think too much about. She was just glad that no one could see how torn up they were under all her skirts. As they neared the main entrance to the Keep, Sansa felt her heart beat faster and faster.

Was this the last time she would ever be outside the towering walls of the Red Keep? It took all of her courage, something she was discovering she had quite a bit more of than she originally thought, not to flee into the crowds of King’s Landing. When she and the guard reached the entrance to the palace, they were stopped by one of the Lannister men.

“Excuse me sir, you’ll have to stay here, I’ll escort the Lady Sansa up to her rooms.” The Lannister soldier hadn’t pulled out his sword but his hand on the blade sent the same message.

The Keep was in Lannister hands now, and the City Watch, despite being the traditional protectors of the palace were no longer welcome. Sansa’s guard read the message well enough and gave the red soldier a piercing glare.

“I am to escort the Lady Sansa. It is the duty of all those in the City Watch to protect the nobles and commoners of King’s Landing. You are only the guardsmen of a single noble house and not the ruling one. You do not have the authority to order me anywhere.” The two men stood almost nose to nose. Neither wanting to back down.

Sansa stood behind the city guard whose name she didn’t even know. It was clear there was more than one power struggle going on within the city. She wasn’t sure what to do with this information just now, but it was nice to know the Lannister’s had more than just the Starks as enemies. Was this what her father meant when he had said she wasn’t alone here?

Before she could ponder what her father had tried to say before he was cut off by Arya, she was distracted by the stalemate between the guards. Three other Lannister men had come to stand behind the first. Each one decked in red and gold armor, each one with their hand on a weapon. The City Watch guard took a step back. He couldn’t take out four guards by himself and even if he did, he would lose his head for it. With one last apologetic glance at Sansa he turned on his heel and began walking back down into the city.

Sansa was left standing alone with the four men. She shifted her feet. This was her last chance. If she was going to run she needed to do it now. Otherwise tomorrow she’d be wedded and bedded to a monster.

She felt panic welling up within her. She was practically choking on it. She didn’t want this. She wanted to go home. She wanted to never set eyes on Joffrey or Cersei again. She leaned back away from the guards. There was a chance they might not catch her. Not a good one, but a chance, nonetheless. But before she could even lift her foot to turn around one of the Lannister guards rushed to her side. Had he sensed her panic?

“Lady Sansa if you would.” He gestured towards the Keep with his hand. “I can escort you to your rooms.” With her escape ripped out of her hands Sansa began walking with the guard into the palace. When she made the turn towards the Tower of the Hand she was stopped by the guard.

“Excuse me my lady, I apologize but as the Lord Tywin Lannister is to be the new Hand of the King, his grace has had your bedchambers moved to the guest quarters in the main hall. I am told it is only temporary as after the wedding you will move into the Queen’s chambers off of his majesty's” Sansa sighed. It seemed she would even be denied the basic comfort of a familiar room. She should have anticipated this.

“Of course, good sir, how silly of me. Yes, please show me to my new rooms.”

“Very good then.” The guard nodded and then the two of them walked in silence to the halls above the main feast room where honored guests of the royal family stayed. Sansa supposed she should be glad, disgraced as her family now was at court, that she wasn’t shoved into some tiny servants quarters until the wedding. But, she mused, it probably wouldn’t bode well for the King’s new merciful reputation if it got out that he had made his betrothed sleep in anything less than the finest rooms. When they reached her rooms the guard offered her one final bow before returning to his post.

Sansa walked into her new rooms, fully prepared to repeat her actions yesterday and throw herself on the bed spending the rest of the day ignoring the outside world. Instead she was met with a veritable army of seamstresses all armed to the teeth with yards of fabric, countless spools of thread, and a number of needles and pins that made even a devoted seamstress like Sansa nervous. She barely had time to step into her chambers before two of the women each grabbed her by the arms and lifted her onto a small stool in front of a floor length mirror.

Without even asking Sansa, the two women began undoing her dress. They made faster work of her corset than Sansa had ever thought possible, and before she knew it, she was standing in just her small clothes before seven women she had never met before. They got to work right away. Sansa felt her limbs pulled in different directions as different women began taking measurements and she resigned herself to an exhausting few hours of wedding preparations.

How could she have forgotten; she needed a wedding dress fit for the future Queen of the Seven Kingdoms by tomorrow. These women would probably be up all night sewing and embroidering her gown. Which meant she would be up all night so that they could make any alterations that they needed as soon as possible. It also meant that she herself had a lot of work to do.

Marriages following the traditions of the new gods required the bride to shed her own family cloak and put on her husband’s cloak. However, because Sansa was so young when she had come to King’s Landing everyone thought she would have years before she would need to make her wedding cloak. Moreover, it was something typically made by the bride and her mother together. And now she would need it by tomorrow, and she would have to make it alone. Theoretically as her future good-mother Cersei could help her make it too but Sansa would rather throw herself in a pit of wildfire than let Cersei anywhere near her cloak.

Gods would she ever get a moment to rest? First her father’s near execution this morning, then Arya’s reaction to seeing her in the Night’s Watch cells, now she’d have to spend the whole night working, only to be wedded and bedded by Joffrey tomorrow. Then it was a lifetime stuck in the Keep, trying not to make him angry.

“Stop shaking” One of the seamstresses snapped at her. Sansa hadn’t even realized that she was shaking. Gods she needed to get a grip on herself. Or at the very least stop crying or panicking every moment of the day. Forget actually coming to terms with what the rest of her life was going to look like; if she couldn’t do a better job hiding her emotions, she was going to get eaten alive at court.

If there was one thing she learned from what had happened to her father it was that anyone, even the respected Hand of the King could be knocked down in seconds.

Being Queen wouldn’t protect her. If anything, it would make her more vulnerable. People would see her weakness and jump on it. They would use her to get favor with Joffrey, not that she thought she would have any sway over him. They could use her to manipulate her brother in the North. Or they could want the crown for themselves and simply take her down. She would never be safe, and she needed to prepare for that.

She thought back to the few days she had watched her brothers and Theon practice their weapons. They tended to get over-emotional during practice bouts, especially when they were younger. Their movements would become wild and they would inevitably lose.

It was especially apparent with Theon whenever he was practicing with his bow. Normally the Iron-born boy had near perfect aim. But when he got angry or embarrassed his aim turned wild. Eventually Theon would just stop using arrows and simply practice drawing and releasing the bow over and over and over again until his arms were shaking. She had seen her brothers do similar things; Jon in particular had been famous for wailing on a practice dummy with a wooden sword until he all but collapsed. What Sansa needed was something else to focus on, something she could spend her energy on. Unfortunately, she couldn’t picture Joffrey or Cersei letting her learn how to use a sword or a bow.

Then it hit Sansa.

While her brothers had learned swordplay, she had learned a more lady-like art, the harp. Learning an instrument was a critical part of becoming a well-bred lady, along with dancing, learning the Old Tounge, High Valaryian, Dornish, sewing and embroidery. Sansa had never taken to it the way she had to sewing but hours of practice meant that her fingers could never forget the notes. Now standing in the chaos of fabric that would become her wedding dress and dreading what that its completion would mean, she began to tap out the notes to Jenny of Oldstones. It had never been her favorite songs but thinking of what she stood to lose should her plan not work she found it particularly appropriate.

Slowly Sansa felt her heart slow down and she felt more settled in her skin. The seamstresses continued to twirl around her, but she felt apart from their anxious twittering and focused solely on the next note of the song. When she was done with Jenny, she moved on to a Northern song about a man who fell in love with the moon, and then another about a knight who spent a lifetime looking for his lady. She continued to ignore the seamstresses, even as they accidentally pricked her with pins.

By the time she tuned back into the activity around her, she found that she had been wrapped in gold fabric covered with light gold filigree designs. It seems the women weren’t going to waste their time with a pattern but would just start on the gown right away. From what she could tell the dress would hug tight to her waist with capped sleeves and a full skirt. It was the type of dress she would have dreamed of making one day. A glance out the window revealed that she had actually spent a good deal of time tapping out songs onto her thigh, or the air depending on which body part the women needed to work on. The sun was sitting just above the roofs of King’s Landing, painting the whole city red.

Just as the seamstresses had begun to slow down, happy with the rapid progress they had made, there was a curt knock on the door which was immediately followed by the arrival of Queen Cersei.

What was it with Lannisters and entering her chambers uninvited?

The women surrounding Sansa all dropped what they were working on and dipped into deep curtsies. Sansa was not sure how much of the dress she was wearing was sewn and how much was simply pinned and thus refrained from curtsying, hoping the Queen would grant her a little leeway. It seemed the blonde beauty was in a rare mood and was actually gazing at Sansa with a look of pity, and maybe even sorrow. A serious departure from the cold anger she had been faced with for the past week.

“I require a moment with Lady Sansa.” The queen’s tone left no room for argument, not than anyone other than Joffrey dared oppose the domineering woman.

The oldest of the seamstresses curtseyed again. “At once your grace, if only you would grant us a moment to take the gown off the lady Sansa so we may begin sewing it.” Cersei nodded but she did not look pleased at the prospect of waiting. The women lept back to work. One drawing a paper screen between Sansa and the queen so that she might have some privacy while she was undressed. The women were experts in their craft and in less than a breath Sansa was divested of the gown and found herself standing once again in the blue dress she had worn to her father’s sentencing.

Once the women had left Cersei gestured for Sansa to sit on the vanity by the window and the queen began to slowly pace the room.

“Well my little dove, tomorrow is your wedding day, how are you feeling?” Sansa started and looked at Cersei with wide eyes, she wouldn’t have expected that the queen would be interested in her feelings.

“I am prepared to be a good queen to my beloved Joffrey.” Sansa wasn’t entirely sure what she was supposed to say in this situation. Both she and the queen knew she wasn’t ready to be wed.

“Hmm. Prepared. There was a time when marrying Joffrey delighted you, you once told me all you wanted to do was bring little princes and princesses into the world. The greatest honor for a queen.”

“I am delighted your grace. Forgive me I am simply tired from all the excitement of the day. Especially after Joffrey’s speech before he chose to be merciful and allow my father to go to the Wall.” Sansa would try to play Cersei’s game. The one of false words and hidden meanings.

Cersei’s face tightened as she stared at the young redhead. Sansa was reminded of when she approached the older woman with her fear that Joffrey might execute her father. Cersei’s expression was the same then as it was now. Resigned to the horror her son had grown up to be.

“Yes well, I admit, I was unaware he had that little spectacle planned. Joffrey’s always been difficult. Even his birth I labored a day and a half to bring him into this world. You cannot imagine the pain. I screamed so loudly I was sure Robert could hear me in the Kingswood.”

“His grace was not with you?”

“Robert said that hunting was his custom. Whenever my time was near my royal husband would flee to the trees with his huntsman and his hounds. When he returned, he would present me with some pelts or a stag’s head. And I would present him with a baby. Not that I wanted him there, mind you. I had Grand Maester Pycelle, an army of midwives and I had my brother. When they told Jamie, he wasn’t allowed in the birthing room he smiled and asked which one of them proposed to keep him out.” There was a wistfulness to the Queen’s voice, like there was no one else in the world she would have rather had in the room than her brother.

Sansa thought of Rickon’s birth, the only one she had been present for. Her father had paced outside her mother’s chambers for hours before finally bursting in and clutching her mother’s hand as she brought the latest Stark baby into the world. Sansa didn’t think she’d want Joffrey in the birthing room either, but she had never imagined going through the ordeal without her mother or Arya. She would even have her father or one of the boys present for all the help they would be, if only to have someone she loved with her when the time came.

“Joffrey will show you no such devotion. You may never love the King but you will love his children”

“I love his grace with all my heart.” Sansa still wasn’t sure why Cersei was being so honest with her, but the northern girl was determined to give no quarter.

Cersei tilted her head and looked at her with undisguised pity, they both knew if Sansa had any say in the matter she would be as far from the Red Keep and all of its inhabitants as was humanly possible.

“That’s so very touching to hear. Permit me to share some womanly wisdom with you on the eve of your very special day; the more people you love the weaker you are. You’ll do things for them that you know you shouldn’t do. You’ll act the fool to make them happy and to keep them safe. Love no one but your children. On that front a mother has no choice.” Even though Sansa still didn’t know why Cersei was being so open she was grateful for it. Cersei’s words offered the first real glimpse into what her life would be in King’s Landing, and it could all be summed up in one word: lonely.

“Now you might not be a woman bled but tomorrow you will have to act like it. Do you know what happens to a woman on her wedding night?”

Sansa felt a flush rise to her cheeks faster that a river broke through ice dams after a spring thaw. “N-No your Grace, only that it will hurt.” Catelyn had not had time to prepare Sansa for the night and none of her elder brothers or Theon would have dared to speak about it in front of her.

“I’ll not lie to you, it will, and unfortunately with Joffrey, it may hurt more than most. I once worshiped Robert, I looked on him as you once looked at my son.” She silenced Sansa’s protest with a look, clearly done pretending the two would be a happy couple, at least for now.

“Every girl in the Seven Kingdoms dreamed of him but he was mine by oath. And when I finally saw him on our wedding day in the Sept of Baelor, lean and fierce and black bearded, it was the happiest moment of my life. Then that night he climbed on top of me stinking of wine and forced his cock into me.”

Sansa flinched at the queen’s crassness. And then felt fear well up inside her. That sounded like it would hurt. It sounded like it would hurt very much.

“He thrust inside me over and over for as long as he could and then when he finished, he leaned over and whispered in my ear ‘Lyanna’. Be grateful it was the younger Arya who looked like your aunt and not you, otherwise I dare say Robert would have wanted a taste of you before you were given to my son. Joffrey will give you no comfort or tenderness. He will take what he wants, what is his, and then, if you are lucky, he will leave you. If not, if not I suggest you close your eyes and think of Winterfell.”

Cersei’s words had come faster and harsher, until the last ones came in only one breath. The blonde beauty stopped suddenly, as if taken aback by all she had revealed to the daughter of her enemy. Sansa found herself looking at the ground trying her best not to release the bile that was forcing itself up her throat. The image of King Robert taking her, taking Arya, as he took his wife was one that would haunt her for the rest of her days. The queen took a moment to collect herself.

“Is there anything you need before tomorrow?”

Sansa broke out of her nightmare to scour her thoughts. There was something she needed for the ceremony but any thought of it just seemed to force the bile further into her mouth. “A cloak” She finally burst out, praying nothing left her mouth other than her words. “I did not bring a wedding cloak from Winterfell and I will need one for the ceremony.”

“Ah yes of course. I’ll have someone send up the materials with your dinner. I imagine you won't want to join us tonight.” Sansa nodded, “Right, well rest up my little dove, I can promise you, there will be even more excitement tomorrow.” With that Cersei turned and left the girl alone.

Sansa waited to hear the queen’s footsteps fade down the hall before diving towards the chamber pot and expelling all that was in her stomach.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had no idea how slow of a build this was until I started posting everything. What did you think? I always have trouble with Cersei so that was pretty hard. What did you think of the music bit? Was it too cheesy? I might do something with it later so let me know. Every comment or kudos makes me write more.


	7. Robb

“Robb! There’s a raven from King’s Landing here, it bears the Lannister seal.” 

Robb looked up from the maps laid out before him. He had been staring at them for so long he hadn’t even noticed how low the candles had burned, two of them had already flickered out. Theon burst through the flaps of the command tent, the letter in question clutched in his hand. 

His mother, Uncle Brynden, Ser Rodrik, Richard Karstark, both Manderly lords, Roose Bolton, Galbart Glover, and the Greatjon Umber were all hot on his heels. Robb was only happy to see some of them.

While Robb’s and the Lord Umber’s relationship had a somewhat rocky start, Robb had quickly begun to rely on the bearded man, and his Uncle Brynden, as he did his father. Robb wasn’t as close with the other Lords but had tried to spend every day of the march south getting to know them better. It was a lesson he had learned at his father’s knee. The banners might have all sworn fealty to their lords but if he could build a relationship, he would earn their loyalty and that would serve him much better than any sense of duty. 

Robb snatched the letter out of Theon’s hand and desperately opened it. His eyes sped across the parchment, all too aware of what its contents could mean for his family. As he reached the end of the note, he found only two of the knots in his stomach had eased, a third remained as tight as ever. 

He looked up at his mother. How could he tell her what awaited her eldest daughter? How could he stand to say out loud the fate that awaited his dearest sibling?

“Robb, Robb what is it. What does it say?” Catelyn’s hands clutched at her heart, as if she could hold it together between her thin fingers. Her lips twitched, jumping to ask after her husband and daughters but terrified to hear what might have happened to them.   
Theon and the Greatjon also looked at Robb with great concern. Theon for the people who had become his family and the Greatjon for his old friend and for what the letter would mean the Northerners campaign. 

Robb decided to start with the good news. 

“Father is alive, he is with Yoren the wandering crow, and they are making their way North. They should be here within the fortnight.” The tension in Catelyn’s shoulders eased a fraction, but she remained braced for worse news. “Arya is with them she is safe and well.” Catelyn actually let out a sigh of relief at that but still kept her eyes locked on her eldest. “Sansa, they say Sansa has had her moon’s blood and as such she will wed Joffrey tomorrow.” Robb thought it best to get it all out as fast as he could. He could barely stand to think of it himself. 

He watched as his mother’s mouth dropped open. She closed it. Then opened it again. It seemed as though the news of her daughter’s impending nuptials had taken her voice. Though it did not take long for the Lady of Winterfell to find it again.

“What! What did you say Robb? Say it again as I must have misheard. Where is Sansa?” There was a fire in Catelyn’s eyes. Robb found in that moment he would rather face the Mountain in unarmed combat than give his mother the news of Sansa again.

“The letter says that Sansa received her moon’s blood last week. It says that in order to end the conflict between the Starks and the Lannisters King Joffrey has decided that they shall wed tomorrow. It also says that due to the new ‘unbreakable’ union between our families I no longer need to go to King’s Landing and swear my allegiance. All they require is that we disband our forces and two representatives, one from the North and one from the Riverlands travel to King’s Landing and pledge loyalty on our behalves.” Robb could hardly name what emotions were racking his body. 

He was thrilled his father and Arya were safe and already on King’s Road, but he also felt a deep sense of dread building in him. Sweet Sansa. His little sister, who he had promised to protect and defend for all of his days, had been left to fend for herself in a pit of liars and traitors and would be wedded to the worst of them by the time night fell on the next day. A large part of him, a growing part of him, wanted to jump onto his horse that instant and ride for the Red Keep. 

The plan was forming rapidly in his mind. He could sneak into the palace, find his sister’s chambers, slaughter any guards, or disgusting Kings, that stood in his way and then he would be home free with his sister on the back of his horse. Before he could grab his sword, his mother let out an agonized wail. She almost fell to the ground, but she caught herself on the table the maps were spread out on. She held herself there for a few moments. 

“We have to go get her. We can’t-can’t let her marry that bastard. Robb, we need to-we need to go to King’s Landing and get her back. I don’t know what happened. I don’t know who arranged this but she’s far too young to be married, moons blood or not. For god sakes she’s only ten and three. She’s practically a babe! This can’t-we can’t-there’s no way Ned agreed to this. How could he just leave her there?”

Robb couldn’t answer his mother. His sister was not just a hostage, once she was married no negotiations would bring her home. It would take him bringing his army right to the doors of the Red Keep to get her back. 

“I don’t know mother. I don’t know what Father or Sansa were thinking. I don’t know what the Lannister’s are playing at marrying Sansa so young. I don’t even know how all of this got started. Who could ever accuse Father of being a traitor? Of betraying King Robert, a man I only ever heard him call a friend. The truth is none of us have any idea what’s happening. What we do know if that Father is safe. Arya is safe. They are on their way north and they’ll be here soon. Right now, there’s nothing I or anyone can do about Sansa’s wedding, she’ll be in the Sept before we could even organize a force to go save her. What I can do is hold our position here. 

“We’ll not retreat as the Lannister’s demand and leave the Riverlands to the mercy of their armies. But neither will we advance. we can’t risk antagonizing them and giving them cause to attack Father and Arya on the road. That would just give them more of an upper hand than they already have. At this point Lord Frey is unlikely to let either army through his pass without serious concession and from our vantage now we ensure no Lannister forces can march further north. We maintain a stalemate until Father arrives.” Robb paused at the end of his explanation, waiting for the inevitable backlash. He had no doubt that both his mother and Greatjon would demand he take stronger action against the Lannisters but right now the only thing he could think about was how scared Sansa must be.

“Aye I think you’ve got the right mind.” Robb’s head shot up to look at Greatjon. “We can’t risk them taking your father.”

Lord Glover jumped in as well “I agree, and I don’t know about the other lords, but I don’t fancy marching south for another stolen Stark girl.” 

Robb supposed he should have seen that coming. It had barely been fifteen years since his father had called the banners to arms and that had been for much more than a missing Stark daughter. The lord and his heir had been murdered by the King, it would have been dishonorable to let the offense go unpunished. Now with Ned, mostly unharmed and on his way back, the lords might hope that war could be avoided. All they would have to sacrifice was Sansa, and political marriages were used all the time to resolve conflicts, the only real difference was how young Sansa was. 

“Besides I’ve heard how infatuated the little Stark girl was with the Prince and that she sent you that letter calling Ned a traitor. For all we know she wants to marry the little prick.” Richard Karstark had never been one to hold his tongue and it seemed the warmer weather in the south had only loosened it. Robb felt his fists clench in response, and everyone tensed as Grey Wind growled from under the map table, responding to his anger. 

“Have care how you speak. Sansa is the daughter of Lord Eddard Stark and you owe her your loyalty. She is a girl of ten and three among our enemies and must do what she can to survive, and we should view everything she says or does in that context. Moreover, she is my little sister and the next man who speaks ill of her will answer to me.” Robb placed his hand on the hilt of his sword and leveled a glare at each of the lords around him. He knew Sansa would never willingly betray their father this way.

“How dare you Sansa is just a girl. Just a young girl without any protection. No. No we cannot just leave Sansa to the Lannisters.” His mother’s reaction was exactly what Robb had thought it would be. “This is your liege lord’s eldest daughter and you are sworn to defend her. We cannot just sit by and do nothing.”   
Robb sighed but he knew there was nothing to be done.

“What do you propose we do mother? She’s to be wed tomorrow; by the time we do anything it will be too late. There’s nothing to do but wait. I like it about as much as you but not disbanding the army is probably as far as we can disobey Joffrey’s command before they seize father on the road. And then we’re left right where we started. Now as for the envoys we are to send to King’s Landing. Once again, I propose we wait until my father arrives to send them off. I want them to know exactly what they will be walking into. Until then I suggest my Uncle Bryden Tully as the envoy of the Riverlands and Lord Wylis Manderly will represent the North.” 

His mother gave him a hard look, one that promised the conversation was not over before storming out of the tent. Ser Rodrik and Greatjon and the other lords follow her and once the tent flaps fell closed behind them Robb collapsed on his chair. Grey Wind emerged from underneath the maps table and put his head on Robb’s lap offering what comfort he could. Robb’s hand immediately began stroking his direwolf’s head, happy for his warm weight. 

Theon cautiously approached his friend unsure if the young lord would appreciate any conversation. The Iron-born son knew that if you spoke to Robb at the wrong time, he was just as likely to bite your head off as Grey Wind was. Luckily for Theon, Robb started the conversation on his own. 

“Gods Theon am I doing the right thing?” Theon had always been envious of Robb’s position, as the respected son of a beloved lord of the largest of the Seven Kingdoms, but now seeing the young acting-lord of Winterfell all twisted up over how to lead men over twice his age Theon found he rather didn’t want to trade places. 

“I’m not going to lie to you. You never had a chance to prove yourself in battle and your still just a boy in the eyes of a lot of the lords. Sitting here and waiting for Lord Stark to come back is going to make some think you’re just playing at commander while you wait for your father to tell you what to do. The Lannister’s especially will see it this way.” Robb looked ready to interrupt but Theon plowed ahead. 

“But I think it truly was your only option. Any conflict with the Lannisters would needlessly escalate the conflict and would risk the lives of your father and sisters. And retreating would only make you seem weaker. They would paint you as a direwolf with its tail between its legs if you left for Winterfell now. No unfortunately I think all you can do now is sit and hope your father comes with actionable information. Until then just try to survive your mother’s wrath. I imagine she’s going to give you quite the tongue lashing tonight.” 

Robb grimaced. “Aye, I think it might be best if I sup in my tent tonight else I might be switched by my mother in front of my men.” He let out a deep sigh and hunched over. Again sensing Robb’s mood, Grey Wind began tenderly licking his face. “Not that I can blame her. Gods what happened down there? And what’s happening with Sansa?”

“Is it possible,” Theon hesitated, “Is it possible Sansa wants to marry Joffrey? She did fawn over him in Winterfell. And she was always more...naive. Maybe she doesn’t understand what she’s doing.”

“No. I know her. Everyone might think she thought life would be a song but she used to come into my room crying that she’d be married to a southern lord who wouldn’t allow her to come home.”

“One day after learning about how my father started a war over his sister she came into my room and made me promise that if she was ever stolen like Lyanna was I would come rescue her. The next night she came in sobbing making me promise I wouldn’t because she had realized that our grandfather Rickard and uncle Brandon had been murdered trying to get our aunt back. She couldn’t stomach the thought of one of us dying for her. And all that aside, my mother is right. We can’t assume she’s doing anything of her own free will.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the super short chapter, I was going to add more but life got in the way. Anyway hope you enjoy a little bit of Robb (he's one of my favorite characters) and please please please comment or leave kudos if you liked it. Next chapter is the wedding!


	8. The Wedding

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: sexual assault

In the North, the sun rose and set at different times depending on what time of year it was. While during the long Winters the sun would disappear for years, during the short winters the days would only last a few hours. King’s Landing, however, was far enough south that they received sunlight on a much more regular schedule, and the sun rose earlier and set later than it did in Winterfell. 

Despite living almost, a year living in King’s Landing Sansa still had not gotten used to how early the sun started each day and she had forgotten to pull her curtains across her window before falling asleep. Thus, as the sun rose on her wedding day it pierced through her eyelids and forced her awake. 

Sansa’s face scrunched up, personally offended that the sun would betray her in such a way. She had spent almost the whole night trading between standing perfectly still so the seamstresses could alter her wedding dress and squinting at her maiden’s cloak trying her best to embroider the Stark family crest on it. The two tasks had left her more exhausted than she had ever been in her life. 

Cersei had provided her with white silk and a mountain of grey thread to do the embroidery with, but Sansa had to tear fur off of one of her old cloaks to fix over the shoulders. Technically there was no need for fur on her cloak in the southern heat, but Sansa didn’t think it would be a true Northern cloak without some sign of the ever-approaching winter. Her stitches of the stylized fur of her direwolf were so messy that if her Septa saw them, she would assume Arya had done them. She wasn’t exactly proud of the cloak, but it would do. 

Now, lying in bed, Sansa realized she hadn’t even gotten under the covers last night but instead had just used the cloak as a blanket. She remained in bed for a while. Enjoying the quiet land between dreams and reality where she could let her mind wander unfettered.

There was a knock at her door and Sansa was glad she hadn’t had the energy to undress last night and rose to answer the door. Standing in the hallway was Cersei, in a stunning gown the color of a dark rose, with gold lions on her upper arms and an off the shoulder neckline. She was surrounded by three ladies in waiting, all wearing the loose revealing robes of all those in service to the royal family. One of the ladies was holding breakfast and upon spotting it Sansa sent a quick prayer of thanks to whichever gods were listening; she hadn’t eaten since yesterday morning. Sansa also couldn’t help but notice the two guards standing guard outside her room. That was unlikely to change anytime soon.

“Sansa my sweet, did you sleep well? You must be very excited about today. The ceremony is in a few hours, so it’s best to start getting ready now. These ladies will help you bathe, dress and fix your hair. Your party will leave for the Sept of Baelor after lunch. The ceremony should be over quickly but afterwards you will be expected to stand on the balcony so the people may gaze upon their new rulers. Then Joffrey had requested entertainment along with a feast so the wedding party will be moving to the Great Lawn for the feast.” 

“At the end of the feast Joffrey to call for the bedding ceremony. After that it’s up to him when your night will end. My ladies will be in your room in the morning to ensure the marriage has been consummated.” 

It took Sansa a minute for her sleep addled brain to process everything Cersei had said. The older woman was looking at Sansa with the false warm smile she always seemed to be wearing. It seems her pity and sympathy from the night before was over, leaving just a calculating soon to be former queen.

Ah, maybe that was it. By the end of the day the Cersei Queen of the Seven Kingdoms would simply be the Queen Dowager, she couldn’t be happy about the demotion. 

“I slept very well my Queen thank you for asking. Of course, I cannot wait to marry my beloved Joffrey and begin our lives together. Thank you so much for allowing your ladies to help me. I was...” Sansa wasn’t sure how to ask about her father’s household. She hadn’t seen any of the staff they had brought from Winterfell, her Septa, or her best friend Jeyne Poole since her father had been arrested. “I was wondering what had become of my father’s staff. I only think it might be easier for me to continue with my old maids and I would enjoy my Septa’s counsel on this special day.”

The look of pity was back on Cersei’s face. “Oh my little dove I thought you knew. Most of the staff was killed while the guards were apprehending your father. Those that survived have been...reassigned to positions in the Lannister household.” Sansa felt her heart stop. 

She had never imagined that they might have been killed. The loss of Jory Cassel and her father’s men at arms had been hard enough. Now those men and women that had helped her grow up, that had snuck her lemon cakes and laughed as she danced across the Winterfell courtyard were dead. Gods did their families know? Had their bodies been sent back so they could be buried in the old way, and among their other departed family? Or had their bodies simply been pushed into one of the mass graves where the dead beggars, and whores with no families in King’s Landing were buried? 

Sansa did her best to blink back her tears. She slipped her hand out of the queen’s view and began tapping out the notes to a Riverlands song her mother had once taught her. Then her ear caught on one phrase, reassigned to the Lannister household. What did that mean? Had they joined the Lannister house in the same way she had? Were the survivors of the Stark party in the south all simply hostages? And she still didn’t know if Septa Mordane or Jeyne were still alive. Dare she ask about them directly and reveal that they were dear to her or should she enjoy the privilege of not having an answer and continue to hope they were still alive?

“Thank you, your grace for welcoming those of my household into yours. Might I inquire as to what happened to the remains of those that passed? And if it’s not too much trouble, is there any chance I might have their names. I would like to write their families and thank them for their loved ones’ service.” At least this way, if Septa Mordane and Jeyne were still alive she hadn’t revealed that they were special to her and then they couldn’t be used against her. 

Cersei’s pitying look was gone again, it seems she was having trouble making up her mind as to what to think about the little northern redhead. She waited a moment before answering, perhaps trying to figure out if Sansa had an ulterior motive. 

“Their remains were sent back to Winterfell the day after your father was arrested. I can get you the names of those that were killed but as if right now I’m afraid I cannot allow you to write any letters to the North. You understand of course.” 

Sansa wasn't shocked she truly hadn’t thought Cersei would allow her to send any letters. 

“Thank you, your grace, I am most appreciative of your candor, I know that I have asked a great deal.” Possibly the first thing Sansa had learned since coming to the Red Keep was that when it came to royalty it was best to lay the flattery on as thick as possible. 

“Of course, my sweet, I’ll see that you have everything you need tomorrow. Today you have much more important matters to attend to. I’ll leave you to your preparations, please do not hesitate to send word if you require anything. This is your special day after all.”

“Thank you, your grace, again you are too kind.” The Queen turned away as Sansa slipped into a curtsy. The ladies barely waited for Sansa to regain her footing before the bustled into her room. There was quite a bit of work to do. 

Within seconds they had her stripped and dumped into a bathtub. One scrubbed her vigorously working away a week’s worth of sweat and dirt while another worked a brush through her hair. They didn’t speak to her and instead worked with cold efficiency. She was however very pleased when for whatever reason they let her soak in the tub for a while as they prepared Sansa’s newly made dress and laid out all the pins and ribbons they would need to put up her hair. Sansa took the brief respite to close her eyes and imagine she was back enjoying the hot springs that kept Winterfell warm. 

Sansa felt someone shaking her shoulder and her eyes flew open. It seemed the warm water and happy memories had lulled her back into a much-needed sleep. One of the women, a tall blue eyed blonde, helped her out of the tub and dried her off. She stepped into her small clothes and then let the woman wrap a silk robe around her body. 

They sat her down at the vanity by her window where her breakfast was waiting for her. Usually Sansa tried to maintain a sense of decorum in all things, but she fell on that food with a gusto that even Rickon, who could never go a meal without getting half of it on his face, would envy. She let herself get lost in thought as the blonde woman continued to brush her hair out. She tried not to think about the coming events and instead chose to watch the sun slowly rise above the city, getting higher and higher as the woman worked on her hair. 

Sansa barely even noticed as the woman began pinning her long red hair up. It seems they were going with the long, twisted bun that arced across the top of her head. It was a style Cersei had recently made very popular. This one was a bit more complicated than the ones Sansa had replicated herself. There were two twists on top of her head, one bigger than the other with gold wiring crisscrossed over the top. She winced every now and then as her hair was pulled tight or they put in a particularly uncomfortable pin. Sansa dreaded how painful those would be at the end of the day. Once she finished eating a different woman began painting her face. 

A little rouge on her cheeks and kohl around her eyes and Sansa almost looked old enough to be married. 

Next, they stood her up in front of the mirror and began draping her in petticoats. Sansa had to stop herself from rolling her eyes when they picked up a corset; of course, because this day wasn’t going to be painful enough. They made quick work of the complicated laces. The tighter the corset was pulled the more Sansa felt her breathing get restricted. Before she knew it they were lifting the gold top layer over her shoulders and laced her in. The dress was beautiful. Delicately embroidered straps crossed her chest, accentuating what little bust she had. And there were little gold armored plates on her hips, making them seem fuller and rounder. The shoes they had her slip into had a little lift, just enough to make it seem like she had that last growth spurt she was waiting for. 

Sansa hated it. She hated how much older she looked, how much more womanly. Yes, the plan to marry was her idea but she had only suggested it to save her father. Joffrey and Cersei were the ones that had decided ten and three was old enough to marry, the least they could do was own their dishonor instead of trying to hide it behind clever fashion tricks. 

The women left her chambers with a curtsy and a small lunch on the table. Sansa would never get used to how long it took for a lady to get dressed in the south. Had she taken this long back home in Winterfell, Arya and her brothers would have burst into her room to make fun of her, or at the very least they would’ve made sure there was no breakfast for her when she finally came downstairs. 

Before she knew it, there was another knock on her door only this time it was a few guards and a Septa she didn’t know. They didn’t say anything, but they didn’t need to, they were here to escort her to the ceremony. Sansa took one last moment in the privacy of her rooms to steal herself. She couldn’t show any weakness today. Not only because the whole court would be there looking for a crack in her armor to take advantage of, but because Joffrey needed to believe that even after almost killing her father, she was still madly in love with him. Sansa pinned her Stark cloak to her dress, lamenting that her father wasn’t here to do it for her. She could imagine him complaining about how the new gods had so many rules and ceremonies and that it was all far too confusing to keep track of. 

The walk to the Sept of Baelor passed by in a blur of red buildings, cheering commoners, and smells Sansa wanted to get away from as fast as possible. The Septa droned on and on the whole way about Sansa’s duty as a wife under the traditions of the Seven and the hours she should spend praying to the Mother to ensure she took with child quickly. Sansa mostly ignored the woman, but she couldn’t help but wonder about the ‘baby’ she would have in nine months. She hadn’t heard anything from Cersei about whether or not they had found one of Robert’s mistresses to use, or if they’d have to find a Lannister one. 

In fairness it had only been two days so it would have been astounding if they had been able to find a suitable woman in that short amount of time. They’d also most likely have to find more than one woman just in case they had a boy. If for some horrible reason everyone they found had boys Cersei would force her to fake a late term miscarriage. Again, Sansa shuddered at the thought of what Joffrey’s reaction to that would be. 

As they drew closer to the front doors of the Sept Sansa found her breath coming faster and faster and, of course, just as she predicted, the corset was not helping. Sansa tried to tap out another song on her leg, but it wasn’t enough. Her eyes were darting around, looking for a hole in the crowd she could escape through. But with four guards surrounding her and a wall of people on either side Sansa couldn’t see a way out. She knew she couldn’t actually run away but even just a moment to herself would have helped. 

The closer to the Sept she got the thicker the crowds got. They were cheering and singing and some of them were throwing flowers over her. Sansa couldn’t help but wonder if these were the same people that had sought her father’s execution for their own entertainment. Had one of the flower throwers been the same person who threw a rock at her father’s head? 

It seemed the people of King’s Landing didn’t care a bit for the nobility that lived there. They were so separate from each other that to the commoners the nobles might as well have been players on a stage. And was clear from the squalid conditions that many of the people in the city lived in that the nobles couldn’t care less about the people. It was something Sansa was not used to. In the North the severity of even the small winters meant that the nobles and commoners had to work together to survive. 

Sansa could recall several small winters where for weeks at a time the commoners of Wintertown and some of the surrounding farms had come to stay within Winterfell. While Sansa had no memory of a long Winter, Old Nan had told her that the people had stayed in Winterfell with her family for two years during the last one. With conditions like that the Northern nobles had no choice but to develop a close relationship with their commoners. Perhaps Sansa could try and do that here, any allies in the city would be helpful if she was going to survive. 

Suddenly the guard in front of her came to an abrupt halt and Sansa had to stop herself from bumping into his back. They had arrived. The Septa left her to join the rest of the wedding guest while the guards marched her up the stairs to the main entrance and left her standing alone, dwarfed by the towering walls and vaulted ceilings. Sansa was shifting back and forth on her feet when Lord Tyrion Lannister, the queen’s dwarf younger brother joined her up on the top of the steps. 

“Ah Lady Sansa you look as beautiful as your lady mother, the perfect blushing bride.” Tyrion dipped into a bow before her.

“Thank you, my lord but you’ll have to pardon me, I thought you were in the Riverlands with your father Lord Tywin’s forces? I didn’t expect to see you here after, after my mother, um” She wasn’t sure how to delicately say ‘after my mother had you arrested in the Vale and then tried to have you thrown out of the Moon Door to your death.’

“After your mother and I met in the Vale? Yes well after enjoying your Lady mother’s lovely company,” he raised his eyebrows at her as if sharing a private joke, “I did join my father’s forces for a time but once I heard about King Joffrey’s impending nuptials he had me race back here so that a Lannister lord might be in attendance. 

Then I thought you might appreciate having someone more handsome than my dull nephews escort you down the aisle.”

Sansa couldn’t help herself has her lips quirked into a smile. Lancel was supposedly the spitting image of a young Jamie Lannister and Sansa had heard word of his cobalt blue eyes as far away as Winterfell. The Lord Tyrion, who was not nearly as unpleasant looking as everyone said, looked plain in comparison. 

“Well thank you for rescuing me Lord Tyrion. If I might ask, I know you visited Winterfell before all the, unpleasantness, between our families started. Might I ask, how is Bran doing? He was always the most active of all of us, and I worried when I heard how depressed he had been after waking up after his fall.”

Tyrion’s face softened. “I’m happy to report that last I saw him he had significant improvements to his quality of life. I had a saddle made for him and from the squeals of laughter coming from the courtyard when he was trying it out, I gather he enjoyed it very much.”

“Truly? He’s riding again?” Sansa felt her face break out in its first true smile since her father had been arrested. It felt good. “Bran always loved riding, he dreamed of competing in the southern tourneys someday. Thank you very much Lord Tyrion, whatever else happens between our families you will always have my gratitude for helping Bran.”

Tyrion went to reply but was interrupted by bells ringing out throughout the city followed by the Sept’s chorus beginning to sing. Tyrion sighed and held up his hand for Sansa to grasp. With the extra lift in her shoes, she was forced to bend a little bit to hold his hand but it was worth it to not have to walk up to Joffrey alone.

“For what it’s worth Lady Sansa, I do apologize that you’ve had to marry so young. It seems war steals childhoods before all else.”

Sansa didn’t get a chance to answer before they had to begin walking down the aisle. She was forced to use her other hand to lift up her skirts a bit so she could walk easily. It ended up being a blessing as it was the perfect way to hide how much her hands were shaking. She didn’t think Tyrion would tell anyone if he could feel it in her other hand. Sansa tried to look only ahead, to avoid seeing the judgmental or greedy glances of the other nobility in attendance but that meant she was looking directly at Joffrey, whose hungry expression was worse than all the others. She settled on simply gazing at his shoes. With any luck he would read it as demure behavior rather than her newfound hatred for his face. 

Once they reached the stairs leading up to Joffrey and the portly High Septon that would officiate the ceremony Tyrion let go of Sansa’s hand and offered her a bow before going to stand next to Cersei.

Sansa walked up to Joffrey, thinking she might have a sense of how her father felt walking up to his sentencing only the day before. Joffrey was wearing an overcoat of an even brighter gold than her dress with a deep blue sash draped across his shoulder and chest. Sansa couldn’t help but notice that his attire was much more well-made than hers. Joffrey grabbed her hand and all but yanked her up the last steps. 

The High Septon began speaking as soon as Sansa landed on the last step.

“You may now cloak the bride and bring her under your protection.” Joffrey got to work immediately. He unclasped the white Stark gown from her shoulders and let it fall to their feet. Sansa felt her breath hitch. Traditionally the cloak was handed back to whichever man of her house had come to give her away. Letting it lie on the ground was just another insult for Joffrey to serve the Starks. Joffrey slipped the Lannister red and gold cloak off his arm with a great flourish and draped it over her exposed shoulders. He then clasped her hand and held theirs up before the Septon.

“Your grace, your grace, my lords and ladies, we stand here before the sights of gods and men to witness the union of man and wife. One flesh one heart one soul now and forever.” The Septon then took a thick gold ribbon and wrapped it around their hands. “Let it be known that Sansa of House Stark, and Joffrey of the Houses Lannister and Baratheon are one. Cursed be he who would dare to tear them asunder.” The Septon unwrapped their hands and Joffrey turned them to face the wedding guests. 

“With this kiss I pledge my love.” The king pulled her near and his hand came to wrap around the back of her head. He forced his lips on her for the second time. She could hear the nobles begin to clap but all she could focus on was how uncomfortable the sensation of Joffrey’s tongue in her mouth was. 

After what felt like an eternity Joffrey pulled away and looked out at the crowd reveling in their applause. Slowly he began to walk them back down the aisle, Sansa allowed herself to be pulled along. She found she was a bit in a daze. Everything just jumbled around in her head. 

It was done. She was married, she was the Queen. Wait, oh gods, she was the queen now. Possibly the most powerless queen in all of history, but still, queen, nonetheless. 

She and Joffrey made their way to the balcony overlooking the rest of King’s Landing. The roar of the crowd outside snapped Sansa out of her thoughts. Outside the people cheered and clapped at the sight of their King and his Queen. Sansa wondered what it would take for them to cheer at Joffrey’s execution. Many of these people had seen three kings come and go in their lifetimes and she doubted their lives had changed at all. 

Sansa had once told her mother that if she were queen, she would make the people love her. Now she was the Queen, it might not have been how she originally dreamed but tomorrow morning when she fixed her hair, she would have to fix a crown on top of her head. Maybe she could do something for the people, maybe she could earn their love the way her father earned the love of the Northerners. 

Joffrey didn’t seem to care at all about ruling his kingdom or the people of King’s Landing so he might not mind if she tried to help the people in the city. That was, if she could convince him she was trustworthy enough to be let out of the Red Keep. 

Her musings were again interrupted by Joffrey as he triumphantly raised their hands above their heads drawing more cheers from the crowd. They stood there for a few moments waving and smiling. The second the cheers began to die down Joffrey yanked her off of the balcony and the new royal couple made their way to a carriage that would do a short parade through the city streets and then they would return to the Red Keep for the small tourney Joffrey had demanded along with their feast. And then the bedding. Sansa had never dreaded anything more in her short life. 

The carriage was a bit snug for Sansa, she felt her entire leg press up against Joffrey’s and she flinched as he put his hand on her thigh. It felt possessive, she was his wife and he would make his claim known. His hand moved up and up her thigh closer to her womanhood. Sansa just did her best to ignore him. She looked out the window and did her best to project a happy and kind face to the commoners. Was this how Cersei had developed her mask of warmth that she had fallen for for so long?

Finally they arrived back at the Keep. They went straight to the Great Lawn for the feast. Due to the short notice there had been no time to arrange a full tournament like Joffrey wanted but there were a few sword fighting matches and jousts. Joffrey seemed to be enjoying the whole affair despite the fact that it could not have been anywhere near as elaborate or spectacular as he was used to. 

Sansa watched from beside Joffrey as he laughed and jeered at the knights fighting for his entertainment. He was consuming copious amounts of wine. Sansa couldn’t help but hope that maybe he would drink so much that he would just pass out as she had seen her father’s men or Theon and Robb do from time to time. 

Sansa watched as the sun descended lower and lower in the sky and felt her anxiety mount. It was surreal. All the other nobles seemed totally at ease. She watched them as if separated from the party by a glass wall. They drank and danced and ate and enjoyed the revelry. Sansa couldn’t bring herself to even put any food on her plate. She did however, drink far more wine than her parents had ever allowed her to consume before. Maybe if she was lucky, she would be the one to pass out and be unconscious for the whole bedding. 

Eventually the wine stopped flowing as freely and the food stopped coming out as much and desserts were the only things left on the table. Unfortunately for the new queen, while several noble ladies had retired for the night, it seemed as though few of the men had. At least none of the men she would have wanted to leave. 

Ser Meyrn Trant and Ser Ilyn Payne were both still in attendance, she would never forget how they had stared at her while Joffrey had molested her the day before, how willing they had seemed to hold her down if he had asked them. She also noticed her mother’s childhood friend Petyr Baelish was still here and she saw he was giving her the same looks Joffrey’s favorite knights were. 

Horror flooded her body as Joffrey jumped up. His chair scraped loudly against the floor instantly gaining the attention of everyone in the room. She watched as he was forced to take a step back to steady himself, it seems he’d had a bit too much to drink, but sadly not enough to put him to sleep. 

“It’s time for the bedding ceremony!” His announcement was met with several cheers as many of the men got to their feet, their greedy eyes all trained on Sansa. Clearly enjoying the moment Joffrey yanked Sansa out of her seat 

“Come everyone pick her up and carry her to her wedding bed!” He pulled her around in front of the table they had been sat at, so she was on full display for all the lords to leer at. “Get rid of her gown she won’t be needing it anymore. I expect her naked by the time I get to my rooms!” 

The young king took a last swig from the wine cup still in his hand before throwing it to the ground. That seemed to be the secret cue as all of a sudden, the men rushed towards Sansa and the women towards Joffrey. 

Sansa saw to her horror that Sers Ilyn and Meryn were among the first to reach her. They grabbed her and hoisted her up into the air; Ilyn by her arms and chest and Meryn by her buttocks. Their groping fingers were quickly joined by those of the other knights and lords in the court. She was particularly wary of Lord Baelish by her upper leg, his hand was moving very close to where Joffrey’s was earlier before-Sansa had to choke back a sob, it was right on top of her womanhood. She wanted to die. 

And then incredibly, it got worse. One of the hands that was grasping her waist began tugging and pulling at the dress before suddenly the air was filled with a terrible ripping sound and Sansa found that her petticoats were exposed. Emboldened by the anonymous lord’s actions everyone else began tearing and ripping at her clothes. 

Sansa didn’t even try to stay composed but began openly sobbing. The castle air hit her skin as she began fighting the hands of the lords. But the men were holding her tight and soon Sansa found that she was completely naked. Now their hands grew even bolder. She thought she could feel someone’s fingers pressing against her, looking for entrance. They were trying to get inside of her. Her brain seemed to shut down, she couldn’t think, she couldn’t pray, she couldn’t breathe. All she could do was feel thousands of hands molesting her body. 

Then she felt them tilt her vertically and then her feet finally touched solid ground before all the hands were gone and a door slammed behind her. Sansa collapsed. Her body heaving, red hair pulled out of its bun and falling around her body, as if doing its best to preserve her modesty, not that she had any left. Sansa couldn’t imagine ever wanting to look at another human being ever again. 

Sansa heard the door behind her open and shut again. Then she turned and she was faced with Joffrey.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Sansa. Unfortunately is only gets worse from here. Thanks for reading! Let me know what you think!!


	9. The Bedding

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: rape

Joffrey seemed to have fared much better during the bedding ceremony than her. His hair was only a bit disheveled and he even still had his small clothes on. The blonde teenager looked down at her on the floor. He had one of his awful little smiles on his face. Sansa tried to stop crying and she tried to calm her shaking shoulders but seeing him standing over her made it impossible. The bedding ceremony was easily the worst thing that had ever happened to her. And now only moments later it was going to get worse. 

Joffrey regarded her for a moment before sauntering over to a small table in the corner that held a pitcher of wine and two glasses. He seemed to feel no shame over his state of undress while Sansa was doing her absolute best to cover herself. Joffrey watched her shift uncomfortably on the ground. He seemed amused by it for a moment, but he soon became impatient. 

“Oh, shut up. I can’t stand the wailing of women.” Right Sansa thought, because clearly, I love being distraught. “Get on the bed, it’s time to finally claim you as my wife.”

Sansa felt a bolt of fear shoot down her spine. She couldn’t do this. She couldn’t do this now not after what just happened. Not while she could still feel those men pawing at her skin, and she could still hear them ripping away her clothes. All she wanted to do was scrub their filth off of her. To pour boiling water over her skin so she could feel something other than the way they manhandled her and abused her most sensitive places. 

She wanted her mother. She wanted her Mam to hold her and brush out her hair and tell her everything would be alright. She wanted to see what her father and brothers would do with those men once they knew how they treated her. She wanted to see what Arya would do to them. She and her sister had never gotten along that well, but she had no doubts that if the younger girl knew what those men had done, she would do her absolute best to rip them apart. Sansa didn’t actually think she wanted to see what her mother would do to them. While the lords of the North fancied her mother a shirking southern violet, Sansa knew the truth, Catelyn Stark would burn the world down to avenge her family, Tyrion’s near execution via a thousand foot drop was proof enough. 

But she didn’t get to see any of that. Instead all she saw was Joffrey’s hand flying towards her face. The back of his hand clipped her mouth and she fell back on the floor with the force of his blow. Sansa was stunned for a second before reaching up to her mouth and wiping away blood that fell from a new cut on her lip. She wished she could just lay on the floor forever, but she knew she couldn’t. 

Her father and Arya had only left yesterday and were still far too close to the Lannisters for Sansa to risk making Joffrey unhappy. She knew that if she refused Joffrey now, he wouldn’t hesitate to track them both down and have the three of them beheaded before nightfall tomorrow. Sansa gritted her teeth before pushing herself back into a seated position, and then after a few more deep breaths, up until she was standing before Joffrey. 

Her new husband looked her up and down. Taking in her freckled skin, trembling limbs, and mangled hairdo before jerking his head towards the bed. 

“Well get on. We haven’t got all night and I intend to put a baby in you as soon as possible.”

Sansa just nodded before walking towards the bed. She paused before getting on top of the covers. Cersei’s sex talk hadn’t actually been that helpful and she still had no idea what she was actually supposed to do right now. 

“How would you like me your Grace?”

“Lie on your back I want to see the great northern beauty I was promised. I want to see what’s so special about Stark girls that my father would never shut up about one he hadn’t even fucked.”

Sansa winced at the reminder of her Aunt Lyanna. She prayed that wouldn’t be how her story ended. Then she climbed onto the bed and laid down on her back as instructed. She looked up at the golden ceiling above her and tried to ignore Joffrey as he took off his small clothes. She however couldn’t ignore the sight of his manhood hanging between his legs. She had no idea where it fell compared to other men, though she recalled that was something that seemed to matter to them a great deal. What she did know was that she wanted it nowhere near her, let alone in her. 

She felt the tears return to her eyes as she bit her lip and looked back to the ceiling. The bed dipped under Joffrey’s weight. She felt his skin slide up against hers. He pressed a hard kiss to her mouth one that required no reciprocity on her point, but was all about him staking his claim over her. His hands retraced the paths his knights and lords had taken over her body. They grabbed her tiny breasts and massaged them painfully. 

But he seemed impatient and quickly lined himself up with her core. He barely waited a breath before forcing his way inside. 

Sansa was consumed with a searing pain. It tore through her entire body and she could swear she felt herself literally tear around Joffrey. She didn’t even try to stop herself from screaming. She didn’t know pain like this could exist. Her body was out of her control, screaming, sobbing, shaking trying to push Joffrey off of her. She couldn’t think of anything other than ending this torture as soon as physically possible. Her mind continued to drown in panic until she felt Joffrey’s hand strike across her face again.

“Will you hold still! You’re my wife! Bedding you is my right as your husband and as your king! If you don’t stop fighting, I’ll call my guards in here and they’ll hold you down for me. And then maybe I’ll let them have a turn with you.” The threat was enough to make Sansa’s limbs freeze. Slowly she lowered her arms which had been pushing against Joffrey’s shoulders.

“A-A-Apologies my king, I’m sorry I was unprepared for the pain. I promise I will endeavor to be better.” Sansa was shocked she was able to string more than two words together. 

Joffrey didn’t even bother answering. He just grunted and started thrusting into her, something that hurt almost as much as his initial entrance. Sansa was about to bite through her lip she was trying so hard to contain her screams and her knuckles were white from gripping the streets. It was against every bone in her body to not fight Joffrey. 

What was it, Cersei had told her? Close your eyes and think of Winterfell. 

Sansa tried to do just that. She clenched her eyes shut and did her best to pretend she was back home. That wasn’t Joffrey on top of her but a thick pile of furs to protect her from the frigid air. It wasn’t the sound of the feast she heard from the window but her brothers practicing their swordplay. She ignored the warm humid air that brushed against her skin and imagined it was the wind that howled through the towers of Winterfell. That it was the breeze that shook the blood red leaves of the Godswood and made the pine needles tremble on their branches. It froze her insides on every inhale but filled her lungs and cleared her mind. She could smell the woods around her. Sap and pine. She could taste the snow on her lips. And then she could feel it crunch beneath her bare feet. 

It wasn’t cold. It was firm and steady, and she took another step and then another. With each one she saw more of the woods around her. The tall trees emerged all around her and shielded her from the blinding winter sun. The wind ruffled through her hair. It carried the smell of a herd of caribou traveling north, geese flying south and two hares just off to her left. Her nose twitched. They were nearby and not moving. Easy prey. She put her nose to the ground to get a better idea of their exact location and made sure to keep her footsteps as light as possible. It wouldn’t do for them to hear her coming. 

She stalked the two hares as they hopped away. This late in summer they would be fat and perfect for dinner. The closer she got to them the more excited she became. The hunt was always fun, and rabbits presented a better challenge then squirrels or groundhogs. Hares let her chase them. She had once seen a moose in the woods. That had looked like a great hunt, but she didn’t think she could do it alone. She needed to find her pack again and then she could try to take the beast down. 

She was almost on top of the hares and they still hadn’t seen her coming. She picked one out, the female, it was plumper and closer to her. Perfect.

She pounced.

She missed. 

She was a bit clumsy as her feet were still a bit too big for her body. But that didn’t stop her from giving chase. She bounded after her prey. Darting between trees and over rocks and small bushes. She wouldn’t let this one escape. It led her for a few minutes before she dived the other way around a tree and found herself facing the hare. She wouldn’t let it try to run again. This time when she jumped, she got one hand on its head, the other on its belly. Then she leaned down and tore out its throat. Its warm blood spurted into her mouth. It was delicious. She tore into the body again relishing in how fatty its meat was, how it filled her belly. 

Her heart rate settled as she ate. She was never sure when she would be able to eat again so she tried to savor the moment when she could. It’s not that hunting was hard it was just that, as with the moose that she saw, it would be much easier to take down prey once she met up with her pack. She didn’t know when she had last seen them, all she knew was that her chances of surviving the coming winter were much better if she found them. 

That and she missed them. She thought her sister was nearby. They had gotten separated from some of their pack around the same time, but she had run off first and had gotten a serious head start. She sniffed the wind again. Hoping to catch the scent of her brothers or her sister. 

She froze. There. That was her sister. Faint, just a whiff on the wind but it was there. It seemed like she was heading north. It was awful having their pack split up. Three of their brothers were up north, one much further than the other two but one brother was down south. Should she go north to meet her brothers and sister or south to find her brother? She wavered for a moment before deciding to follow her sister north.

Decision made she licked the rest of the blood off of her lips, before bounding back through the trees. Everything will be better once she finds her pack. She was weak by herself. There was no one to watch her flank for hunters that might try to sneak up on her and it was exhausting killing enough food to keep her fed by herself every day. Once they were together, she would be able to relax. She wouldn’t have to curl up alone at night, she could lie down next to her littermates and relish in their warmth. 

Sansa opened her eyes when she felt Joffrey slip out of her and roll over to the other side of the bed. She wasn’t sure where her mind had taken her, but it had been much better than lying still and feeling Joffrey violate her. 

She could feel something sticky between her thighs. A quick glance down revealed it was blood, mixed with something else, something she didn’t want to think about. 

She was also horrified to see that here were aching red handprints all over her body. On her upper arms, on her wrists, on her hips. Joffrey had gripped the limbs as hard as he could while he forced himself on her and Sansa had no doubt that there would be bruises tomorrow. In fact, given the throbbing pain between her legs she was beginning to think she would be in pain until she could pretend to be pregnant with Joffrey’s child. After that he could entertain himself with as many whores as he wanted. 

“Don’t go to sleep, I want to have an heir in you by morning” Sansa flinched at the sound of her husband’s voice. She would do anything to make sure Joffrey never touched her again, but as usual, she wouldn’t have a choice. 

Sansa took advantage of Joffrey’s apparent exhaustion to contemplate the dream she had while Joffrey lay with her. Sansa had a bit more to drink than usual during the feast but, though she’d hoped for it, she didn’t think she had actually had enough to drink to pass out. Moreover, she had never had a dream that felt so real. If she focused, she could still taste the hare’s blood in her mouth. Sansa thought the dream should scare her. That she should feel disturbed by how good the raw meat and blood of the hare had tasted. Instead she found that the hunt, the wild, and the cold had all brought her immense comfort. Her jaunt through the woods, dream or not, had been the best thing to happen to her all week. 

Joffrey let out a loud snort next to her. She turned over to face him stunned that he had fallen asleep. His mouth was hanging open and his snores thundered throughout the room. Sansa couldn’t help but giggle. Here was the proud king who had claimed he would take her throughout the night, and he was passed out and snoring before the night was even half over. 

Then slowly her giggles turned into hiccups and tears. Her body shook and she turned away from Joffrey and curled up into the tiniest ball she could as far away from him as possible. Sansa’s feet twitched. She wanted to get out of the room as fast as her legs would take her. She didn’t think the guards that were surely standing outside the bedding chamber would let her leave this early and she hated to think what would happen to her if it was Ser Payne or Trant guarding the doors. 

So instead of sprinting out of the room like her every muscle demanded she pulled her limbs in closer and wrapped her arms around her waist. She bit her already bloody lip to silence her sobs. She forced herself to be content that Joffrey had only taken her once.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What did you think?? Kudos and comments give me life so PLEASE let me know if you liked it!


	10. Robb

Robb quickly found out that a self-imposed stalemate was just about the most tedious thing a person could do to themselves. For a week and a half, he and his men had sat just north of the Twins and done nothing but train, hunt, and gather firewood. Robb could tell that the men were getting antsy. 

He himself was consumed with restlessness. There was nothing to do. As far as they knew neither Tywin nor Jamie’s forces had moved an inch since Ned and Arya had left the capitol. And they had gotten word that Tyrion had been sent to King’s Landing. He was to stand in for Tywin as the new Hand of the King. Though apparently that wasn’t the only role he was playing substitute for. 

Robb had almost killed the Smalljon in training when he had heard that Tyrion had walked his little sister down the aisle, that she had been wedded and bedded at only ten and three. And he wasn’t alone; Theon, for all he had teased Sansa at Winterfell, had been seen shooting arrows until the bow had to be wrestled from his hand so a Maester could treat his bleeding fingers. And Robb honestly never wanted to see his mother that mad again. 

When he was ten and three, he, Theon, and Jon had snuck out to Wintertown. They hadn’t even gone to the brothel; they’d just stayed in the tavern playing games. But when Lady Catelyn saw them stumbling home in the dawn light, she had shouted at them for at least an hour and then subjected them to a month’s worth of extra chores and the cold shoulder. At the time he thought that was the maddest his mother could ever be. 

Then he saw her face when she read the letter. It had twisted from shock, to horror, to rage, accompanied by a reddish-purple color he couldn’t quite identify. Her whole body shook and she crumpled the royal announcement in her fist. Robb had watched from the corner of the room as his mother stormed around the tent shouting what she would do to Joffrey if she ever got her hands on him. She had even thrown a table. 

His mother had always been an absolute stickler for courtesies and maintaining the proper appearance but all of those concerns appeared to be forgotten as she raged loud enough for the whole encampment to hear. Although that seemed to have worked in her favor as several of the lords seemed to look at the Lady of Winterfell with newfound respect and maybe a little fear. 

The forced stalemate had also meant that Robb spent countless hours in planning and strategy meetings for battles that might never happen. As it was, they had six plans to sack King’s Landing, eight for Casterly Rock, and two for Harrenhal and one for the Wall; that last one was more to see if they could do it than anything else. 

The only bright side of all the meetings was that Robb finally thought he had earned some more respect from most if not all of the lords. While they had yet to see him in battle, they watched as he consistently came up with nuanced ideas for battle tactics and mediated any disputes that emerged between the lords or their men. 

Right now, Robb had no idea what would happen once his father arrived. If they would go to war, if they would return home to Winterfell. He didn’t even know if his father go to the Wall. The Iron Throne had little to no reach in the North and it would be almost impossible for them to come punish Ned once he was past the Neck. 

There was a not insignificant part of Robb that was praying that once his father was back, he could step down from acting warden of the North and return to the much more relaxed position of the heir to Winterfell. Robb knew it was inevitable that one day he would take over for his father but he had never expected it to happen quite so soon. 

All the lords were still of his father’s generation and they had come up through Robert’s Rebellion and the Greyjoy uprising together. Some, like his father, had been younger sons and had not expected to ever take over as the lord of their Houses. A few others had been forced to take over much earlier than they were expecting. The shared experience had bonded his father with all the lords in a way Robb never could. While he had earned the respect of most of them, friendship was still very much a work in progress. Robb was hoping that by the time he did actually take over for his father, many of the other heirs would also be stepping up and they could bond over trying to move out of their fathers’ shadows. 

Instead Robb was trapped in meetings with the current lords while the heirs were all together in the training yards. He knew it was a bit petty, especially considering everything his sisters and father were going through in the south and the burdens he had left Bran to deal with back in Winterfell, but he couldn’t help it. His first real test as the Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North had ended with him sitting in pointless meetings for half a month.

It was during one of their many strategy meetings in the tent when Ned and Arya arrived at the Twins with the recruits for the Night’s Watch. 

Robb and the other Lords had only just heard the horns calling out their arrival before Ned and Arya burst into their tent. There was a moment of silence, no one quite believing that Lord Eddard Stark was actually standing before them. 

Robb couldn’t help but notice that his father looked haggard, even after two weeks out of the Black Cells. Ned was still leaning heavily on his uninjured leg, his cheeks looked gaunt and there were new creases in his forehead and around his mouth and there were streaks of silver creeping through his black hair. This could be attributed to how hard they must have ridden to get to the Twins so quickly and the near constant worry he must have had that the Lannisters might intercept them and how Sansa was faring alone in the Red Keep. It couldn’t have been easy leaving his daughter with no protection in the same building where his father and older brother had been so brutally murdered. Regardless Robb didn’t think he’d ever seen his father looking so weak or old. 

After staring at each other for a moment Robb jerked forward before stopping himself, just as he had when his mother had arrived at the camp. He was still the youngest and least experienced in the room, he didn’t want to risk what respect he had earned by looking like a little boy running into his father’s arms. 

Arya had no such reservations and literally jumped on him, trusting as always that he would catch her tiny form. He was more than happy to do so. He clutched his little sister to him, so grateful to finally have her safe in his arms. Arya had always had a special relationship with Jon, but that didn’t mean that she and Robb weren’t close. In the year she had been gone he had missed her always running around and causing mayhem with Bran. The two of them would always come scampering into Robb’s room once the results of the mischievousness had been revealed. Robb might have been the oldest but that didn’t mean he was on their parent’s side when it came to pulling pranks.

Arya eventually slipped down out of his hold, but she was quickly replaced by Ned who also didn’t seem to care about what embracing Robb would mean for the young heir’s reputation. Robb had to admit, once he was surrounded by the warmth of his father’s arms, he didn’t quite care either. Despite Ned’s appearance, his arms were just as strong and comforting as Robb remembered them being. In that moment with his face pressed against his father’s chest Robb finally felt like they just might survive this shitshow. Robb felt Ned bury his head in his curly red locks.

“My boy,” Robb felt his father’s hand grasp the back of his head. “I’m so proud of you” Robb could barely hear his father’s words, but they meant the world to him. He felt his father press his lips to his temple in a quick kiss before releasing him. 

They heard a gasp from the tent opening and all three Starks turned around to see that Catelyn had just run in. She froze at the sight of her husband and daughter. 

But her shock didn’t last for longer than a second before she and Arya met each other around the table. Again, Arya jumped up into waiting arms. It was a testament to how little Arya had grown in the past year that Catelyn was still able to hold her youngest daughter up in her embrace. Robb and the lords watched as Catelyn buried her tear streaked face in Arya’s dark hair. 

Mother and daughter held each other for a few moments before Ned grew impatient. It took him only a few long strides before he was beside his wife. Arya seemed to have heard him coming and quickly pushed away from her mother. Arya’s feet had barely hit the ground before Ned had Catelyn in his arms and swept her into a kiss. Their passionate embrace brought out more than a few chuckles from the observing lords while Robb and Arya were looking anywhere else. 

After much longer than either of their children were comfortable with, the Lord and Lady of Winterfell separated. They didn’t even look embarrassed as some of the voyeurs gave them smug smiles. Robb watched as each of the Northern lords stepped up to welcome Ned. 

Some like the Greatjon and Lord Glover embraced Ned like a brother, others like Lord Bolton gave a more formal handshake or bow. Either way Robb couldn’t help but be envious of how his father’s easy relationship with his vassal lords. Throughout all the greetings Ned had not released his hold on Catelyn’s hand. It brought a small comfort to Robb. The world might have been turned upside down, but his parents were here in front of him, and they would put it right. 

Unfortunately, the good mood only lasted for a few moments before everyone remembered why they were there. As the smiles slipped off everyone’s faces Robb wondered what he was supposed to do in this situation. Should he suggest the next step, maintain his position as leader of the camp? Or should he wait for Ned to make a suggestion and cede control now. Robb waited a moment to see if Ned would speak, but he still seemed a bit dazed by all the attention. Before the moment could get awkward Robb cleared his throat and got everyone’s attention. 

“Can we get a chair for my mother and father? I think we’ve a lot to discuss. Unless, Father do you need to rest? Or do you need any food or medicine?” Suddenly Robb wasn’t sure if he should’ve spoken.

“No no we need to talk now. The capitol's a mess and we need to decide what to do.” At Ned’s words the lords all took their seats and two chairs appeared by Robb’s at the head of the table. Robb wished people responded to him like that. Robb immediately took the most off center of the three empty seats, leaving the two center seats for his mother and father to take. They both gave him curious looks, as if they hadn’t expected him to immediately let his father take over. 

Arya stood awkwardly off to the side for a moment before hopping on her mother’s lap. Rob would never admit it to anybody, ever, but there was a part of him that wished he was young enough to so publicly seek the comfort and embrace of their parents. There was yet another awkward moment of silence as all the lords waited for either Robb or Ned to start talking. Then thankfully, Ned took charge.

“There is much to discuss, and we need to decide what to do. I suppose the best place to start is with the issue of my ‘treason.’” Everyone in the room was focused on Ned in a way Robb had never seen. There were no wandering eyes, no fidgeting hands, just pure concentration. 

“I suppose it starts either with the murder of Jon Arryn or with Cersei and Jaime Lannister pushing my son Bran off of the Broken Tower.” Immediately all the lords tensed, Bran was only eight and already someone had tried to kill him twice, it was unconscionable. “While in King’s Landing I discovered why the Lannisters thought both of them had to die. Bran saw Cersei and Jaime...together in the Broken Tower and Jon Arryn realized that every Baratheon child for generations has been black of hair, even Robert’s bastards.” 

There was a murmuring around the room as everyone slowly realized the meaning of Ned’s words. Robb couldn’t believe his ears.

“Joffrey, Myrcella, and Tommen are all bastard children born of Jaime and Cersei Lannister.” There was an outcry from the lords. “Once I figured out what Jon Arryn had been investigating, I approached Cersei, before Robert. I gave her a chance to save her family. I would wait for her to get her children out of King’s Landing before telling Robert. She took the opportunity to sabotage me. After Robert died, I thought I had the City Watch on my side, but Petyr Baelish betrayed me.” Catelyn let out a gasp from Ned’s other side. He turned to see if she was okay, but she just waved him to continue. 

“When I confronted Cersei and Joffrey, they had me arrested for treason. Varys came to see me in the Black Cells, he told me that the Lannisters were prepared to kill Sansa if I didn’t confess to treason and swear that Joffrey was the one true King of the Seven Kingdoms. Arya had escaped the Keep when they arrested me. He said if I confessed Joffrey would spare Sansa and allow me to take the Black. And then we came here. So, what we need to decide is-”

“But what about Sansa? Why did she marry Joffrey, why so soon?” Catelyn had a furious and panicked look on her face. “What happened to my daughter Ned?” 

Ned got a nervous look on his face, he glanced around the room seemingly unsure of what to say. “Sansa, Sansa told me-She got married because-”

“Because she’s a traitor!” Arya jumped on her father’s hesitancy, “Cause she’s a stupid cow who cares more about pretty things than her family.” Arya had waited two weeks for her father to tell her what Sansa had done and in all that time she had only gotten angrier and angrier. Arya was sleeping in the dirt with their father who was still weak and injured because of the Lannisters. And Sansa had bowed to Joffrey and professed her love for him, even after he almost killed their Da. 

“I saw her! I saw her in front of the Sept of Baelor. Joffrey had just put father’s head on the chopping block. They were going to kill him! They were going to kill him with Ice, with his own sword! And after Joffrey decided not to, Sansa got to her knees in front of him! She got on her knees and thanked him! She said he was merciful! That she was lucky to be married to him! She’s a traitor! Just let her rot in King’s Lan-”

“Arya! Silence! You don’t know what your sister did; you don’t know what she sacrificed for me! For you! For everyone in this room!” Ned had jumped from his chair, fury in every line of his body. 

The other lords had started muttering during Arya’s outburst. It was clear that they were believing what Arya was saying. The only people he saw that didn’t were Catelyn and Robb. Their faces just revealed disbelief. 

“Sansa didn’t betray me and she didn’t betray our family. I cannot tell you exactly what she did, I myself do not know all the details. Moreover, I fear that if any of my speculations were to get out, Sansa’s life would be forfeit. All that is important right now is that Sansa is to be thought of as a hostage and not an ally of the Lannisters.”

“Come on Ned, you know no one in this room would betray you. We’ve all sworn to serve you and the Starks until our last day. What happened with the girl?” Lord Karstark wasn’t content with Ned’s answer especially after hearing Arya’s accusation. He wasn’t alone.

“We all heard the girl was Southron as Dorne who’s to say she didn’t trade the North for a crown?” Lord Bolton had a cruel sneer on his face as he questioned Sansa’s loyalty. 

“Really I thought Northerners were supposed to be the smart ones.” Brynden Blackfish spoke out from the corner. While not of the North, his prowess in battle had earned him immense respect among the Northern lords. “If my niece had indeed betrayed Lord Stark there would have been no need for her to be married so soon. It’s obvious she made some sort of deal, maybe they were going to kill her Lord Stark, maybe they had an attack planned on our camp or found a vulnerability in Winterfell. Who knows? All that matters, is that no girl of only ten and three is married and bedded without some ulterior motive. Even if she does still trust the Lannisters, which given what we’ve heard of Joffrey’s stunt at Lord Stark’s sentencing I sincerely doubt, she’s still just a babe and it’s likely she’s being kept in the dark about much of what’s happening.” 

The Blackfish left no room for argument. Catelyn sent him a thankful look. She was trying to hold her tongue during the meeting as some, like Lord Bolton, considered it improper for her to even be there. However, with people speaking against her eldest daughter, it was getting harder and harder to restrain herself. Robb noticed that after his great-uncle’s statement, several of the northern lords were shifting in their seats, perhaps ashamed that they had thought so lowly of a girl who was so young. 

“Thank you Lord Brynden.” Ned seemed eager to move on from the subject of his daughter. “There is other news, and Ser Rodrick I am afraid I owe you an apology.” At his name the old knight raised his eyebrows at Ned. “When I was attacked by Jaime Lannister in the streets, I reported that all five of my men-at-arms had been killed. This was a lie. I was getting more and more concerned with the situation at King’s Landing and thought having some men hidden in the city might come in handy should we need a quick getaway. Jory Cassel, Neal Heeran and Daveth Brenson are all still alive, and they are presumably still in King’s Landing. It is my hope that they will find a way to make contact with Sansa.” 

Robb didn’t try to hide the smile that broke out on his face at the news of the men’s survival. He turned to Theon who met him with an equally large grin. Jory had taught all the Stark children, as well as Theon and Jon, how to ride horses, he had helped to train the boys in arms, escorted the girls into town and generally acted as another older brother or cousin. Hearing of his survival, along with Neal and Daveth’s, who were also close companions of the boys, was the best news the two young lords had heard in a while. 

Ser Rodrick was also not giving much thought to maintaining a stoic facade as his eyes opened wide and filled with hope. “Truly, Lord Stark, my nephew lives?” 

Ned nodded, “You have my deepest apologies Rodrick for the suffering news of his death must have caused you. I thought this deception was the only way to ensure my daughters and I might have an escape should we need it.”

“Nonsense my lord,” Ser Rodrik wiped a stray tear off his cheek “It is enough to know my Jory and the other lads are still alive. Hopefully they can watch out for the Lady Sansa. I know the three of them well, there is no way they would leave King’s Landing while she is still there.”

Ned smiled at Rodrick, despite the difference in status the two men were fierce friends, and each saw the other and their children as extensions of their own family. 

“Now we must decide how to proceed against the Lannisters.” Again, the mood in the room darkened. “As of now I’m hesitant to move against them. I had no time to hear back from Lord Stannis to know if he plans to take the throne and I don’t want to face the Lannister’s alone. We have a much greater chance of success if we divide their forces. Moreover, we have no leverage against the Lannisters, if we antagonize them, there’s nothing to stop them from killing Sansa in retaliation. Wedded to Joffrey or not I’m sure they could find a way.”

“So, you just want us to sit and wait? We did that already with your boy.” Greatjon scoffed. Robb had to resist the urge to sink in his seat, his father was not back for more than thirty minutes and already he had been reduced to a boy. “You tell us a bastard, one of incest no less, sits on the throne. He humiliated you, and thus the North, and now you would have us believe he’s forcing himself on your daughter and you would have us do nothing? No, I say we introduce Joffrey and the rest of the Lannisters to our blades.” There was a chorus of approval following Lord Umber’s demand. The northerners had been sitting still for almost three weeks now and they were well beyond restless. 

Robb couldn’t deny sympathizing with the Greatjon. The Lannisters had pushed his little brother from a tower, stripping him of his dreams of knighthood. They had imprisoned his father and made him falsely confess to treason. And now, now that prick Joffrey was raping his little sister. Everyday Robb had to stop himself from riding south to rescue her. Robb had sworn to his parents, to Sansa, and to himself, that he would never let anything happen to her. And now he had to sit powerless as some bastard might be brutalizing her. After they had received news of the impending wedding Robb had to be physically tackled by Theon before he had stopped trying to get to his horse to ride south. 

“You think I don’t want to march on the Lannisters? You think I don’t want to put Joffrey’s head on a spike and take Sansa home? If I could, I would burn the Red Keep to ash and then move on to Casterly Rock. If I had my way, there would be no Lannister alive to see the next Winter. It is taking every fiber of my being not to cross the Twins and meet Tywin in the Whispering Wood. But we can’t. It goes against every bone in my body but the costs of fighting the Lannister’s alone would be too great and we could lose Sansa as soon as we attacked. We have to wait and see what Lord Stannis does. Until then you will be amassing forces, stocking up your armory’s and preserving resources. No matter what this will not be an easy war but I fear the wait will be just as hard as any battle.”

“Well, I’m sorry but frankly now that your back, Lord Stark, I say we turn our backs to the south.” Lord Karstark spoke up. “We’ve no idea what’s in your daughter’s mind and I for one am not keen on marching south for yet another Stark girl taken by a prince. We lost enough good men when we marched for Lady Lyanna and our numbers still haven’t recovered. I say we leave the south to their squabbles.” There was nodding among several of the lords. They might have been ready to fight for Ned Stark, but Sansa was another story altogether. 

Robb saw his mother level Lord Karstark with a glare that could have curdled blood. 

“Lord Karstark you know as well as any that the repercussions of any conflict in the south will be felt throughout the North.” Catelyn’s lips were pursed. Her fists clenched under the table. “In case you’ve forgotten we depend on the South to help us store food for Winter. We import cotton and copper and any war there threatens to cut off our supply lines. Not to mention that without the South, who will buy our fur, our lumber, our iron or wool? I know the North likes to see itself as separate from the rest of Westeros, but the truth is after 300 years under the Iron Throne we’ve become too interdependent.”

Lord Karstark looked cowed, but the implications of his words rang through Robb’s ears. No matter how intertwined the North was with the South, the lords were stubborn and although Greatjon seemed eager to go to war for the North’s honor, it was unlikely he represented a majority of the Lords. Those of a more isolationist persuasion might be more inclined to ignore the trouble in the South. Some of them might even see the detangling of trade relations with the South as a bonus. Gods Robb hated politics. 

There was a silence in the tent as the issue hung unresolved in the air.

“Pardon me my lord,” Lady Dacey Mormont broke the silence and spoke for the first time, “You said ‘you must amass forces,’ do you not plan on returning to Winterfell?” 

Ned’s eyes shot to Robb and Catelyn’s. He was clearly nervous about how they would receive his words. “No, I will not return to Winterfell, at least not for long. My agreement with the Lannisters was contingent upon me taking the Black. If I don’t head for the Wall they will assume I’ve betrayed them and they might take it out on Sansa. 

“Also, I’ve gotten several concerning messages from Lord Commander Mormont and my brother Benjen. They tell me the Wildlings are moving south like never before. Someone must go to the Wall to meet with them, it might as well be me. I however, will not be taking the oaths of the Night’s Watch. I swore to a false King that I would take the Black, as far as I’m concerned it was as binding as Joffrey is legitimate. Once the opportune moment to strike against the Lannister’s has presented itself, I’ll return as Lord of Winterfell. Until then my son Robb will continue in my stead.”

Robb nodded at his father. It was the best he could ask for; he might have to continue as Warden of the North but at least his father would not be gone forever. The lords looked like they were grudgingly accepting of his father’s plan. 

“Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve been on the road for two weeks, we can speak more in the morning but for now I think it best if I retire with my family.”

“Father, wait.” All eyes turned to Robb and he felt the heat rise in his cheeks. “There is one more matter that we should deal with now.”  
Ned raised a questioning eyebrow in Robb’s direction.

“Joffrey demanded that we send two envoys down to pledge our fealty. One each from the North and from the Riverlands. I suggested Lord Wylis Manderly and Lord Brynden Tully. They’re well known enough that the Lannisters will think that we’re serious and if Uncle Brynden can get Sansa alone, there’s a chance he could find out exactly what deal she made.”

Robb waited anxiously while his father pondered the suggestion. The redhead wasn’t exactly thrilled to have his judgement tested by his father in front of all the lords.

“I agree. Lord Wylis, Brynden, if you are still amenable?” The two lords in question nodded at Ned’s words. “I would ask that you leave as soon as possible. And please do your best to meet with Sansa and assess the situation in King’s Landing” 

Robb could tell that his father was eager to leave the tent, but he needed to ask one more question.

“Father are you sure? They will have to pledge fealty on my behalf, in my name. Fealty to a King I’d soon see dead. And more likely than not I’ll soon take arms against. Pledging allegiance now will make me an oathbreaker when that day comes.”

Robb saw everyone in the tent stiffen. No Northerner liked the idea of an oathbreaker.

“I know son. But the way I see it your pledge to him will be the same as mine. An oath to a false King is no oath at all. These southerners have no respect for our customs or our honor. I learned that the hard way when I trusted them with the fate of the throne and the lives of my daughters and mine own. If we are to win against these cravens, then unfortunately we must play the game as they do. Now if anyone needs me, I’ll be with my family.”

The lords all immediately stood at Ned’s words. They all dipped into bows as Ned swept out of the room, Robb, Catelyn, and Arya all just a step behind him. Robb could tell many of the lords were a little unsatisfied with his father’s response to Robb’s fear of being an oathbreaker, Robb himself had to admit he wasn’t totally assured that this move wouldn’t besmirch his honor but there was nothing to be done now. Besides to not send the envoys might endanger his sister. And if Robb was being honest with himself he was fine losing a little honor if it meant she was out of the Lannister’s claws. 

Together the Stark family walked from the command tent to Robb’s tent near the center of camp. Despite the short distance between the two tents, the small group managed to draw the eye of most people at the camp. Ned did his best to smile and nod at the soldiers and any of the young heirs that they passed but Robb could tell that his father was exhausted. 

When they stepped inside the tent Ned all but collapsed on Robb’s cot. Catelyn sat as close to him as humanly possible. Their hands were clasped once again and laid in Ned’s lap while she rested her head against his shoulder. While Robb new his parents loved each other he was unused to them showing such open and deep affection for each other. 

Robb sat on a chair by his desk and pulled Arya up on his lap. She squirmed quite a bit, clearly fed up with all the affection after sitting with her mother for the meeting. Robb however was determined and Arya soon ceased her struggles. Though he thought he heard her cursing her diminutive size. 

“Ned, Ned I need to know. What happened with Sansa?” Catelyn’s voice was shaking. Robb knew it pained her to even think about Sansa’s situation but like his mother, he needed to know what had happened to his little sister. 

Ned let out a deep sigh. “Sansa wouldn’t tell me outright what she had done so I have to assume she promised to keep it a secret. If it gets out, Sansa’s life if forfeit. From what she told me, Varys was wrong. Joffrey was never going to spare me, not even if I confessed to treason and swore to take the Black. She said it was because he wouldn’t be able to trust me, but I think it was just because he’s a monster who cares more for his own ego and need for blood and violence than justice. And because he’s a spoiled little boy who felt humiliated by me. Sansa said it was ‘fortunate’ that her blood came so conveniently.” 

The way Ned spoke about Sansa’s moon blood, something Robb never thought he would have to think about so much, made it clear to everyone in the room that he didn’t believe she had actually had it. 

“She said that once the Starks and Lannisters were joined in marriage Joffrey would be able trust us and he wouldn’t have to kill me. I think Sansa pretended to have her moon’s blood so that she and Joffrey would get married to distract him from killing me. Gods she was so scared. She sacrificed herself to save me, to save Arya, and to save Robb and all the Northerners riding for King’s Landing. She’s just a girl. She’s not even a woman and now she’s been bedded, to that monster of a king.” 

Ned choked on his last words and hid his face in Catelyn’s hair. Catelyn was shaking in Ned’s arms, her eyes wide and filled with horror. 

Arya was also shaking on Robb’s lap. She turned to face him, her expression one of deep shame. “I-I was awful to her. I yelled at her I hit her, and she just tried to save Da’s life.” She broke out into little heartbreaking sobs.

Robb kissed her forehead and rubbed his hand up and down her back. “Shhhh Shhhhh, it’s okay it’s okay, I’m sure Sansa understands. You had no way of knowing Sansa’s plan and she knows that. She knows you love her and I know she’ll forgive you.” 

Robb himself was having trouble keeping it together. He remembered vividly when he and Sansa had learned that she would most likely go south to marry. He was ten years, and she eight, too young to have ever thought about leaving home. Sansa had managed to hold onto her composure until the two siblings returned to his room. She had burst into tears and begged Robb not to let her go south. She had wanted to stay north with her family and in a world that she knew. 

Over the next few years he had watched as she convinced herself that all the songs of the south were real and that once she got there, all of her dreams would come true. She became infatuated with songs and stories, but he knew the whole time that deep down she was still scared to leave Winterfell. And now here he was years later unable to do anything as his sister’s deepest fears came true.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Was Ned to OOC? I thought he might be a bit more cynical after what happened in KL. Also I realize Arya hasn't exactly shined but it's just because she's scared and tired; I hope that comes through. I promise she'll have her time to shine. 
> 
> Let me know what you think! Comments and Kudos keep me going!


	11. A Familiar Face

Sansa walked gingerly down the hallway. It had been almost a month since she had married Joffrey and the King had been relentless in bedding her. She wasn’t sure how much of his determination was to prove his virility and get her with child as soon as possible and how much was him using her to take out the anger he felt towards her father, but either way Sansa was exhausted. 

She woke up every morning covered with bruises and sore in places that she was uncomfortable thinking about. The word gentle would never be used to describe Joffrey. Sansa’s body had felt it as night after night as Joffrey became more and more comfortable revealing his sadistic side. 

He had started with just not caring if he hurt her, then he had moved to intentionally bruising her, and finally in the past week he had started actually beating her. He seemed to take pleasure in her fear and pain. Even in the heat Sansa had to wear her most conservative gowns to hide the bruises. 

On several occasions Joffrey had threatened to let his guards have a round with her if she didn’t start being more enthusiastic during their time together. He had even tried to call Ser Illyn in once before Ser Clegane growled that Cersei would be very interested to know that the king had invited another man into their bed. For all Joffrey was Clegane’s master he paled at the Hound’s words and sent Illyn away. Sansa had no idea what the Hound thought of her, but he seemed to be trying to protect her. Despite his rough exterior Sansa greatly preferred him as her guard over anyone else.

Ser Clegane was with her this morning as she walked to Cersei’s new solar. It was odd, not thinking of the commanding woman as the queen anymore, though not nearly as odd as thinking of herself as the new queen. Sansa was the only person who referred to her new good-mother as Queen Cersei instead of the Dowager Queen. 

Sansa knew that despite her new title she had no real power, that still resided with Cersei. A fact that would be driven home again by her meeting today with the blonde. The older woman had been searching for three weeks for a woman pregnant with either a Lannister or Baratheon bastard for Sansa to pretend to be pregnant with. 

Sansa preferred a Baratheon baby so that they would at least have some claim to the throne no matter how marginal it was. But she knew Cersei wanted a Lannister bastard so that she could more easily control the whole situation. 

Timing and gender were the two main obstacles in finding a baby. For a Baratheon baby they would need to find a woman that Robert had impregnated in the months just before he died. And even if they found a suitable woman, they would have to wait several months to see if it was a girl. Cersei would never allow a boy that was not Joffrey’s trueborn son to be heir to the Iron Throne. Sansa was praying that the summons to Cersei’s solar meant that a baby had been found. She didn’t want to know how Joffrey would react if she couldn’t tell him she was pregnant soon. 

The guard outside of Cersei’s room was clearly expecting her as he didn’t even bother announcing her arrival to the former queen but just opened the door for her. Sansa strode into the solar and saw Cersei sitting behind her desk with Tyrion Lannister standing just behind her. 

Sansa couldn’t help but notice that the former queen’s new rooms were a bit smaller than her old ones that Sansa now occupied. However in typical Lannister fashion Cersei had spared no expense in decoration. There were curtains of red Dornish silk with gold embroidery adorning the windows and gold detailing on her desk, chairs and tables. Her tray for refreshments had a gold pitcher and crystal goblets and the floor had an actual lion’s pelt on it. 

Sansa took a moment to stare. She had never seen a lion before. Cersei had probably had to have it brought all the way from YiTi where lions were said to roam freely. 

The young new queen couldn’t help a small moment of satisfaction that, impressive as the lion looked, it was small compared to how big she had heard direwolves would grow. She quickly paid for that moment of pride when she remembered that she would never get to see how big Lady would grow to be. Her wolf was just another thing she loved that Joffrey had taken from her.

Cersei was seated behind her desk. She was, as usual, stunning in a gown of deep blue and her straw gold hair was gently curled with two small braids pulled back from her face. As usual Sansa felt frumpy in comparison. Her whole life people had said she would grow into a great beauty like her mother, but standing before the queen covered in bruises and exhausted from consecutive nights of Joffrey’s attentions, she couldn’t help but feel small. 

Sansa was about to take a seat before Cersei and the Hand when she noticed a woman standing to the left of Cersei’s desk. Sansa was taken aback for a moment. The woman looked to be just over her twentieth year and if Sansa didn’t know better, she would’ve thought she had come straight from Wintertown. She had dark hair, dark eyes and a long nose. She was also terrified; cowered in the corner, her shoulders hunched, eyes darting around the room, wringing her hands in front of her. Even with her meek demeanor Sansa could see why King Robert had slept with her. She was everything Sansa had heard her Aunt Lyanna had been. This was going to be the mother of her child. 

“Sansa my sweet take a seat. As I assume you’ve surmised this woman is carrying one of Robert’s bastards and apparently the babe is due in six or seven months. The timing isn't ideal, but she hasn’t had her blood in three moons and she’s felt the child move so we’re sure she’s pregnant.” Cersei’s mouth was pulled tight in a thin line of displeasure. Clearly the former queen, similarly to the Lady Stark, did not appreciate the proof of her husband’s infidelity standing in front of her.

Tyrion stepped forward, trying and failing to hide his dissatisfaction with the whole affair. “Yes this is Liva, she was a favorite of the late King Robert’s. I’m sure you can imagine why. I’ve heard she’s the spitting image of your late Aunt Lyanna.” Sansa caught Cersei rolling her eyes. “In fact, if I’m not mistaken, Liva I believe this baby has an older brother, another one of Robert’s?

The woman, Liva, looked up, startled at being addressed directly. “Y-Yes my lord, Cleon is his name, he’s about to be three. I can’t afford him an’ this little ‘un” Cersei cleared her throat and Liva’s head immediately dropped to look at her shoes. It was then that Sansa noticed what Liva was wearing and she felt her face blush. Her dress was just a single gossamer fabric wrapped around her body with the sole intention of being easily taken off. The dress left nothing to the imagination; Sansa could even make out Liva’s nipples. 

“Yes well,” Cersei’s voice was light with false happiness, “It was fortunate that Lord Tyrion was able to procure one of Robert’s favored whores without Baelish knowing, and one that so strongly resembles a Stark. That way the baby’s dark coloring can be attributed to the grandparents. We’ll keep an eye out for another suitable whore or Lannister bastard just in case this one is a boy but for now we can announce you’re with child. I’m sure Joffrey will be thrilled.”

“Pardon me your grace, I’m a bit new to the plan, but how did you plan on faking Sansa’s pregnancy. Surely the King will notice when his wife’s stomach doesn’t grow.” Tyrion gave his sister a long suffering look, like he couldn’t imagine why she was engaged in such a farcical plan. 

“I was too young when Arya and Bran were born Lord Tyrion, but I remember when my mother was pregnant with Rickon quite well. Her belly didn’t start to grow for at least four months. And when she had a spot of bleeding in her sixth, Maester Luwin put her on bedrest. I didn’t understand why at the time, but he expressly forbade my father from spending the night with her. Surely, we can do the same. For the few months in between all we need is a clever dress.” Tyrion looked disappointed by Sansa’s answer, like he was hoping they would have abandoned the whole plan once they saw the flaw he had pointed out. 

“Yes well, your movement’s will certainly have to be restricted in the last months of the...pregnancy, it would be too easy for the truth to be revealed otherwise.”

“Where will Liva stay in the meantime? I assume she can’t stay in the brothels and she obviously can’t stay at the Keep, the servants would wonder where her baby had gone.” If felt strange to talk about Liva like she wasn’t there but Sansa wanted to get this conversation over with as soon as possible. 

“I have a number of houses in the city, we can hide her in it until she has the babe, if it’s a girl we’ll announce you’re in labor. If not, and we haven’t found a replacement you’ll have a stillborne.” 

“And afterwards?”

Cersei and Tyrion exchanged a look. Sansa had trouble discerning whether it pitying or exasperated but either way the two of them had a way of making her feel like she was always missing something. She spared a glance at Liva. The woman’s head was still tilted towards the ground, but her eyes were peeking through her lashes. Liva was trying her best to hide it but her hands were trembling, and she kept shooting glances towards the door. She was shifting her weight from foot to foot. Sansa was vividly reminded of when she had walked from the Night’s Watch outpost back to the Red Keep, how she had leaned on her front foot, always ready to dart down an alley and escape her deal. It seemed the whore had a better understanding of what Cersei and Tyrion were planning than she did. 

Then it hit Sansa, why the woman would suddenly be so scared. There would be no afterward for Liva. Once she gave birth to the babe, she would be a liability. She would know the intimate details of the plan and those involved. It would be too dangerous to do anything but kill her. Sansa felt her heart stop, it had been doing that a lot lately. She didn’t realize her plan to save her father would condemn another. 

“What if she became the baby’s wetnurse? It might be easier for the babe and it would keep Liva close.” Sansa did her best to control her tone. She couldn’t seem too panicked otherwise they would know she didn’t want Liva to die and then Cersei would have another chip to play against Sansa. No best to make it seem like she was oblivious to their murderous plan and buy herself enough time to find a way for Liva to escape with her son. 

The two adults exchanged another look. “One problem at a time my little dove.” It seemed Cersei wasn’t willing to make any promises. “For now, you must keep fulfilling your duty to my son, in a few months we will announce your pregnancy and then once we are into the final months you will be put on bed rest so as to reduce the risk of exposure. Then we will pray Liva’s baby is late. If he is early, we will just hope he doesn’t grow too quickly. Thankfully Joffrey won’t know the difference between a newborn and a baby with a few months, not that I expect he’ll care.”

“I shall need a handmaiden I can trust to assist me in the mornings, especially once I am to begin faking my stomach. Might it be possible that I could use one of the surviving members of my household and maybe Liva too, after the babe is born?” Sansa could guess Cersei’s answer but it was worth a try. 

The blonde gave her a small smile. “Oh, my sweet, I’ve already assigned one of my ladies to your chambers. I think you’ll find her quite satisfactory; I certainly do.” Sansa could barely hold back her grimace. Wonderful, she thought, now she would be spied on in her own chambers as if the ever-watchful eyes of the court weren’t bad enough. 

“Thank you for your consideration your grace. I also wondered if you might have the list of my deceased household members.” Cersei raised her eyebrows at Sansa, before delicately lifting a hand and opening a drawer in her desk. She pulled out a small scroll, tied with a piece of twine and held it out over the desk towards Sansa. The redhead had to stop herself from tearing it from the older woman. As it was Sansa had the parchment clutched tightly in her hand. She needed to know who had survived, if Jeyne had survived. 

Sansa stood and offered the queen a small curtsy. “Thank you again your grace for all your help, I greatly appreciate it.” She spared Liva and Tyrion a nod before sweeping out to the room. 

The Hound was waiting for her in the hallway. She barely even looked at him before walking back to her chambers. Joffrey was off on a hunt, not that she thought he would be doing much of the actual hunting, and she wanted to take advantage of his absence to look at the scroll in privacy and if she had time give herself the luxury of a nap. 

The new couple had separate bed chambers but their solars were connected and there was no doubt in Sansa’s mind that if Joffrey were in his rooms, he would get her in bed. She spent every night with him and the countless hours of increasingly violent babymaking had wrecked her. Not to mention the breathing attacks she had started getting. Over the past month she had developed some sort of affliction where she was constantly being sent into little panics. 

It could be something innocuous like one of her maids helping her into her corset, or one of her ladies-in-waiting brushing up against her; then suddenly the walls would be closing in and her lungs would refuse to take in any air. 

She’d have to sit in a corner of her room or bury herself under the covers in her bed and just pray that it would end soon. On more than one occasion she had gone into an attack barely able to think clearly and then suddenly she’d wake up. Her limbs would be shaking, eyes stinging, and throat bone dry. Even when it turned out she had been out for hours she still felt weak and exhausted. She had one this morning and now would do anything to get back in bed. 

Sansa was grateful the walk between Cersei’s rooms and her’s was short, she hated having to smile and act like she wasn’t aching every time she saw members of the court. She left Ser Clegane standing outside her door and slipped into her chambers. Sansa worried for a moment that her handmaiden of one of the chambermaids might still be in the room but thankfully it seemed as though they had both finished their work for the day. 

She knew it was a bit petty, but Sansa couldn’t help but take a moment to admire her new rooms. As Queen, hers connected to Joffrey’s and were thus the best rooms in the Keep. There was a balcony running along the whole outer wall that faced Blackwater Bay so the only smells coming in were of the sea and not the filth of the streets. 

One of the two dining tables in her room was on the balcony and she had found great pleasure in taking her evening meals there and watching the stars emerge one by one in the night sky. The other dining table was to the left of her room, in front of a rather large wardrobe and chest . To the right was her vanity was a three paneled mirrors, a serious luxury considering how expensive mirrors were. Her bed was big enough for three people to sleep on without touching and was up against the right wall on a raised dais. 

It was a small comfort that whenever Joffrey wanted to try and make a baby he summoned her to his chambers, her bed remained untouched. Her one complaint was that the Lannister colors dominated the room. A red duvet and gold sheets on the bed. A red tablecloth with gold embroidery. Gold curtains and red cushions on the seats. Sansa would be happy if she never saw red and gold ever again. 

Sansa relaxed her rigid posture as the door shut behind her. She reached behind her neck to begin unlacing her gown but winced as she pulled on the bruises that littered her ribs. Her dress was fairly simple so she was able to take it off herself and the lack of corset meant that it took only seconds for her to strip down to her shift. 

She was about to crawl into bed when the door to her solar began to open. It opened slowly, like when she would open the door to Robb’s room late at night and didn’t want to wake her parents by knocking but also didn’t want to burst in and potentially walk in on him changing. Sansa tensed and brought her dress up in front of her like some sort of shield. She thought about calling for the Hound but as far as she knew her only enemies in the castle were the Lannisters and they would have no need to creep around her rooms. 

After a short eternity the door opened all the way and a hallucination walked into her room. 

Sansa’s jaw practically hit the floor. 

Jory Cassel had died in the streets when her father was attacked. Jaime Lannister had put his sword through the master-at-arms’ eye. She had wept for hours. Jory had been like family. He had led her around on her pony when she first learned to ride. He had snuck sweets to her and her siblings whenever they were on the road and always turned a blind eye when he caught them stealing from the kitchens. And now he was standing in front of her. 

There were two big differences from the man she knew from Winterfell and the man standing before her. The first was that he was wearing the uniform of the Lannister guards. The second was a black patch over his left eye. 

Sansa was frozen. Her lips mouthing words, but her voice wouldn’t lend them any sound. Jory Cassel was supposed to be dead but now he was in her bed chamber. She tried to move toward him but could barely manage a step. But she didn’t have to move any farther. 

Jory flew across the room and within a second she found herself swept up in his embrace. She collapsed against his chest, fingers scrambling for a hold on his leather jerkin. His arms were strong around her back and for the first time in almost two month she felt safe. 

Finally, finally, she had a friend here. Someone she could trust, someone who cared about her, who cared about her family. Sansa felt something salty touch her lips. When had she started crying? Her shoulders began to hitch with sob,s but Jory just held her tighter. His hand reached up to the back of her head and began to stroke her hair. She pressed her face deeper into his chest. He felt solid against her, real. She wasn’t dreaming, Jory really was alive. 

Sansa felt her knees go weak with relief, but Jory was there. He slipped one arm under her shoulders and the other under her knees and lifted her up into his arms. He swiftly moved to her bed and laid her down on it. 

“Jory, how-how are you here? We heard you-” Sansa’s breath was coming too quickly and she desperately reached out a hand for Jory. She needed to know he was close. She managed to grasp hold of the bottom of his shirt while he pulled the covers up over her and brought them up to her chin.

“Shhh shhhh, it’s all right lass. Shhhh don’t worry I’m here now, I’m here. You’re going to be okay, everything’s going to be okay. I’m here I’m here.” His voice was soft and slow and Sansa relished in his Northern accent. 

“How” Sansa had to swallow a sob. “How are you here we? My father told me you were dead.” 

Jory knelt down in front of her bed. “We were attacked by the Kingslayer and the Lannister men just as your father said. And Yorick and Finn were killed. But I, Neal, and Daveth survived; though not unscathed.” Jory gestured casually towards his eye patch. “Your father knew King’s Landing was getting dangerous and he thought it best if we hid in the city as a contingency plan should you all need to make a quick escape. So, the three of us found an abandoned house on the outskirts of the city, in Flea Bottom and waited for Lord Stark’s message. Then we heard he had been arrested. We tried to come up with a plan to break him out and rescue you and your sister but before we could he was off with the Night’s Watch and you were married to Joffrey. We weren’t sure what was going on, so we just tried to get to you. I apologize Lady Sansa for not being faster, but it took quite a while to be accepted as a Lannister guard.” 

Sansa just gave him a smile like he had said he was sorry he couldn’t raise the sun in the west. 

“Nonsense Jory, I’m just pleased to see you’re safe. It was awful when father told us you and the others were dead. Arya was distraught. And Daveth and Neal too. Senna will be so relieved.” Senna was Neal’s mother as well as one of the cooks in Winterfell. 

“Lady Sansa what happened? How is it you’re married to the King?”

Sansa’s eyes dropped from his face in shame. Could she tell him the truth here? It was unlikely anyone could hear her but Cersei’s threat rang loudly in her ear. 

Perhaps Jory sensed her fear. “Don’t worry Sansa, I searched the room before you came back. There’s no one here you can tell me the truth. I’ll protect you.”

Sansa felt tears welling in her eyes again. “Cersei and I thought, we thought that even though Joffrey had agreed to allow my father to take the Black if he confessed, the King might still have him killed. And Cersei didn’t want that, I still don’t know why but she and I made a plan. If Joffrey and I were to wed the next day, he might be distracted and could get over the humiliation my father caused him. I honestly have no idea how it worked but apparently Joffrey’s stupider than any of us thought.” 

A look of horror spread across Jory’s face. He didn’t say anything but just drew her into a soft hug. He cradled her head like she was the baby bird everyone kept calling her. She eagerly accepted it. After over a month of Joffrey’s abuse, a kind touch was all she could have asked for. Sansa tucked face into Jory’s neck and pretended for just a moment that she was seven and Jory was congratulating her for a good riding lesson. After a few moments he pulled away. 

“I swear to you Lady Sansa, on my honor and my life, I will bring you home to your family. Neal, Daveth and I, we will keep you safe.” Sansa gave him a small smile in return. “Is there anything I can do for you now? Anything I can get you?”

“I was planning on taking a small nap, Joffrey’s out on a hunt he shouldn’t be back for hours, now’s the only time I can get any real sleep.” Sansa noticed Jory’s fist clench at the reminder that she had to bed Joffrey. “Would you mind terribly staying with me while I slept? Just for a little while! You don’t have to, it’s just, I-”

“Of course, I will Lady Sansa. If I have my way I won’t let you out of my sight until we’re back at Winterfell.” He pressed a small kiss on her forehead. “Get some sleep, I’ll wake you when the sun sets.”

Sansa nodded and wiggled farther down the bed until her head was resting on one of the many pillows. She closed her eyes, comforted that she could still feel Jory’s presence next to her. The sound of his breathing, the weight of his elbow where he leaned on the bed. She managed to get out a quiet word of thanks before falling asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What did you think? The plot should be picking up a bit now so I hope you'll stick with me. Please leave comments or kudos! They give me life and a will to write.


	12. Half a Truth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: rape

Sansa was loping through the woods. The sun was going to set soon and she needed to find a place to lie down for the night. If she was with her pack she’d be able to run much later into the night but she was still alone and the woods were dangerous for a young pup. One day she and her pack would be the most feared hunters in the land but for now she was vulnerable. She had been searching for a suitable cave for a while but so far there had been no luck. It was agony to even stop at all. She was so close to her brothers and sister. She could feel it in her blood. She would only have a few more solo hunts before they were reunited. 

Then she spotted the perfect den ahead of her. Tucked underneath a tree, almost as wide as she was long, a collection of roots had carved out the perfect bed. She hopped down into her home for the night. The ground hadn’t been exposed to the sun as long as the earth above so it was still a bit frozen; but it was nothing a few minutes of careful pawing couldn’t fix. After a few minutes she had dug up enough soft dirt to sleep comfortably. She walked in tight circles for a moment, searching for the perfect position to both sleep in and make a quick escape if needed. Then she laid down on the ground, front paws in front of her, back ones tucked off to the side. 

She longed to curl up into a tight ball, surrounded by her littermates, she would be able to sleep safely, without worrying that she might need to be up and moving in seconds. 

Soon, she reassured herself, soon you’ll be with your brothers and sisters and you’ll be able to sleep and hunt together for as long as you want. Her eyes began to close as she dove into the memories of her pup days, bouncing around with her siblings. 

Sansa felt someone shaking her arm. 

She wished they would stop she was having the most marvelous of dreams. She was almost home, she was so close she could taste it. Then she felt her silk sheets and feather bed and was overcome with despair. She was nowhere near home. 

They kept shaking her. 

Oh gods, was it Joffrey? Did he want to take her again? She couldn’t do it. Sansa didn’t want him to ever touch her again. His hands were all over her body. Forcing it and pushing it, beating it. Every night was terror and every morning held pain. Why couldn’t he just leave her alone and go to his whores. Why did she have to swallow bile every time she looked at him. Why did she have to swallow his essence every time he wanted to take her mouth. Sansa tried desperately to send her mind back to the woods. Gods he was still touching her. She just wanted to burn her skin off so that no one, not Joffrey and not his lecherous guard, would ever be able to touch her again. 

Her eyes flew open; something important had happened before she went to sleep. She glanced up to see who was waking her and suddenly it all came flooding back. 

Jory. He was alive. He Neal and Daveth were all alive. She wasn’t alone in among the lions. 

“Jory, you’re here.” It was Jory who had been shaking her. Not her monster of a husband. He wasn’t here. She tried to control her breathing. Her fingers were against her thigh gently tapping out the notes to Florian and Jonquil. After the first few bars of the song her breathing slowed to a normal pace. 

“Of course Lady Sansa, I’ll never leave you.” Jory had a soft sad smile on his face. “I’m so sorry to wake you Lady Sansa but the horns just sounded, the King has returned from the hunt. I thought it best to wake you just in case he sends for you.”

“Yes, thank you Jory, I should prepare for dinner anyway.” She sat up in bed and rubbed the sleep out of her eyes. “I forgot to ask before. How did you manage to get into my rooms?”

“I got a position as one of the Lannister guards, they’ve been hiring quite a few people since Joffrey ascended to the throne. Neal too though he was stationed at the gate today. I was posted by the throne room but snuck up here after my shift ended. It’s actually a bit disgraceful how easy it is to get around once you have the uniform.” Jory gestured to his new red and gold tunic.

“But what if someone recognizes you? If Joffrey or Cersei discover who you are, they could have you killed or imprisoned. You and Neal.” Sansa felt a small bubble of panic forming in her chest. She couldn’t bear to lose the northern guardsmen. 

“Don’t worry Lady Sansa, the helmet obscures most of our face, besides, I doubt the Lannisters would even recognize their true guards if they passed them on the street.”

“But what about Ser Jaime, surely he will recognize your face when he returns?” 

“There might be some concern when Jaime Lannister returns from the front, but that’s a worry for another time. For now, let’s get you ready for dinner. Can I fetch you anything?”

“No that’s alright, if you could just...” She gave a little spinning gesture with her hand and felt her face begin to turn red. 

Jory’s face immediately flushed, it seemed he too had just realized just how inappropriate their position was. While she and the other Stark children had been close to the master-of-arms growing up it was unheard of for him to be in one of their rooms, especially one of the young ladies’. Not to mention she was only in a shift. One that was a bit more revealing than their northern sensibilities were used to. Neither had cared much during their reunion but now with clearer heads the impropriety made itself known. He turned on his heel and did his best not to run to the balcony. 

Sansa allowed a small grin at the soldier’s clear embarrassment and slipped out of bed. She padded over to where she had dropped her dress a few hours before. She had been so swept up in seeing Jory that it had remained on the floor exactly where she had taken it off. Sansa pulled it over her shoulders and tied it as quickly as possible; not wanting to leave Jory on the balcony for too long. 

“It’s all right. I’m decent now.” Jory returned hesitantly and Sansa made her way to the seat before the vanity to fix her hair. She had mostly been wearing it in southern styles to show her rejection of her father and the North but with the knowledge that Jory, Neal, and Daveth were each alive, that she wasn’t as alone in King’s Landing as she had originally thought Sansa put her hair in a simple northern plait that she could drape over her shoulder. It seemed dull compared to the fantastically elaborate southern styles, but it gave her a sense of comfort. Joffrey might force himself on her every night, but she was of the North. She was ice and steel and she ought to remind people of that. 

Sansa looked down at her vanity’s table. In the middle was a velvet red cushion and gently placed on top of that was the crown King Robert had commissioned for Lyanna when he began his rebellion. It was a truly beautiful headpiece. Elegant roses sprung out from the bottom circlet and seemed to crawl over each other like ivy. It was clearly supposed to be reminiscent of the blue winter roses of Winterfell and the tournament crown of love and beauty that Robert had never gotten to give Lyanna. 

Sansa had worn it the day after she and Joffrey were married when she was officially presented before the court as Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, but she hadn’t worn it since. It felt dishonest to wear it. The thing might have been made of wood for all the power it gave her and she detested the idea of being Joffrey’s Queen. Joffrey of course wore his crown of Baratheon antlers every night. The blonde king was loathe to miss an opportunity to remind everyone of his status. 

Sansa thought about wearing her crown tonight; riding the courage Jory had given her and reminding everyone that even though she was effectively a hostage, she was also a ruling monarch. She reached down for the crown but stopped as soon as her fingers touched the gold roses. For all she wanted to be strong at court she really didn’t want to draw any attention to herself. Not while the only power she had was between her legs and her father’s three guardsmen. No she needed to be patient if she was to survive the Lannister regime. The Northern plait would have to be enough for now.

Sansa saw Jory giving her a concerned look out of the corner of her eye. He had seen her hesitance with the crown.

“Are you alright my lady?”

“Yes. Jory I apologize. I’m afraid I’m still getting used to court politics. Things are much different here than at Winterfell.”

“Aye I imagine so. Their gods come with rules and tricks and games, it’s no surprise that their lives are filled with them too. But don’t worry my lady, you’ve always been the cleverest of your siblings. No doubt you’ll have these courtiers wrapped around your fingers by the next small winter.”

The redhead spared him a sad smile. “I’m not so sure about that. Everyone seemed to know about Joffrey before I did. Robb, Jon, and Theon all told me what an ass he made of himself in the training yards. And Arya was always calling him a pompous prick. Then he had Lady killed. Then there were all the rumors we heard here. Gods how was I so fucking blind!” 

Jory started at Sansa’s language. At Winterfell she had always strived to be a prim and proper lady. Ironic that now when she was at the highest status a woman in Westeros could achieve, she had decided to loosen her tongue. 

“Lady Sansa you cannot blame yourself. You are a romantic, there’s nothing wrong with that. Especially for a lady of your standing who has to leave home and marry a stranger. You wanted to believe that Joffrey would be a good husband. It’s no wonder that you would try to see the best in him.”

“Yes, but Jory I was so stupid. I told Cersei father was planning to flee King’s Landing. I told her and then he was arrested! Joffrey almost killed him and it’s all because I was stupid. Just a stupid girl with stupid dreams.” Sansa felt her eyes sting as they started to make tears. But she wiped them away before they could fall. She was sick of crying. She had been sobbing almost every day since her father was arrested and then even more after she had married to Joffrey and she couldn’t stand it. Her tears had gotten her nowhere.

Jory didn’t have the same resentment towards her weeping as she did. He hurried over and squatted before her. He reached up and gently wiped a stray tear from her cheek.

“You made a mistake Lady Sansa. All you can do now is learn from it.”

“But Father could have died, and it would have been all my fault. He’ll never forgive me if he finds out I betrayed him.”

“Pardon me Lady Sansa but you did not betray your father. You put your faith in the wrong person. There’s quite a big difference. You have an open and trusting heart and your father kept you sheltered in Winterfell. It’s understandable you didn’t expect Cersei to betray you. You’re not used to the games of the south. I daresay your Lord Father might have made the same mistake.” Sansa gaped at Jory’s last words. He gave her a rueful smile. “It’s only rumors but the smallfolk know more than nobles would ever give them credit for. There are whispers that Lord Stark had a deal with the City Watch to overthrow Joffrey but at the last minute they betrayed your father and let the Lannisters arrest him.”

“No! You’re wrong, father would never try to overthrow Joffrey. That’s just what the Lannister’s want everyone to believe.” Sansa hissed “He might be a monster, but he is King Robert’s son. Father thought of Robert as another brother he would never try to harm his children. And he never wanted the throne. You know this Jory, how can you speak of father like this?”

“I apologize Lady Sansa I did not mean that your Lord Father tried to seize the throne for himself. But we’ve kept our ear to the ground in King’s Landing. We haven’t gotten the full picture of your father’s ‘treason’ yet but from what we knew of your father’s investigation into Jon Arryn’s death and what we’ve heard on the streets Joffrey might not be a Baratheon.”

Sansa’s jaw dropped. “Wait why was father investigating Lord Arryn’s death? I thought he had a natural death. How did Father come to think Joffrey was illegitimate? Did he have any proof?” Sansa felt as though her mind was being torn apart by questions.

“Your father had been investigating Lord Arryn’s death since you arrived in King’s Landing. He sent me to speak with Lord Arryn’s squire, but the man wouldn’t talk to me, next thing we know he’s been killed by the Mountain during the tournament. You remember?” Sansa did. She didn’t think she’d ever forget the way Ser Hugh’s mouth had bubbled with blood as he took his last breaths as the splinter from Ser Gregor Clegane’s lance was lodged in the smaller knight’s throat. 

“Your father thought it was no tourney mishap but the Lannister’s trying to silence the man from ever speaking about Jon Arryn’s death. Next thing I know your father has us visiting all manner of places than Lord Arryn had been to before he died. A blacksmith’s shop in the Bell District, then one of Lord Baelish’s brothels. He didn’t partake!” Jory anticipated Sansa’s next words based on her outraged expression and spoke quickly. “He didn’t go there for service my lady; he went to speak to a whore. I can’t remember her name, something with an M or N maybe but Baelish said she was one of King Robert’s favorites.”

Sansa was still rattled by the thought, no matter how fleeting, that her father might dishonor her mother by going to a brothel as she absorbed Jory’s words. Why in Seven hells would her father want to speak to a whore and a blacksmith? 

“Do you know what my father spoke to them about?”

A flush overtook Jory’s face. “Ah-no, my lady I was a bit, distracted, at the brothel.” Sansa’s face mirrored Jory’s and she quickly looked away. “But at the blacksmith’s he wanted to speak to the apprentice. Asked the lad about the helm he was making. I’m not sure what Lord Stark did after we visited the brothel, that’s when me and the lads went into hiding. Can you remember anything your father said or did before he was arrested?”

Sansa scoured her memories of that last week. Her father had been on edge, but she had attributed that to him being attacked by Jaime Lannister and the pain in his leg. She remembered seeing him scared for the first time in her life when he first told her and Arya that they would be leaving King’s Landing. 

He had done his best to hide it but Sansa had seen his eyes flicking towards the door like he was constantly expecting someone to come barging in. She tried to think back on that conversation. Maybe her father had let something slip. Unfortunately all she could hear was herself saying she didn’t want someone brave and gentle and   
strong. By the gods, could she have been any dumber. 

“I don’t know. Father had been acting strange ever since we arrived in King’s Landing. He was always holed up in his solar or arguing with the council members. I thought he was just worried about Bran and hated being in the south.”

Jory’s voice took on a sense of urgency. “Lady Sansa you must try to remember. Your father uncovered something here that almost got him killed. That means it could still be dangerous for you here.”

Sansa raised an eyebrow at Jory and replied acerbically. “I think I know quite well what dangers I might face with the Lannisters thank you Jory.”

Jory ducked his head.

“Yes of course Lady Sansa, I did not mean, that is, I know, I know it cannot be easy being married to Joffrey. But still someone wanted your father dead, and they might come after you.”

Sansa let out a deep sigh. “I know Jory, I’m sorry. Everything’s just been so confusing lately. I thought everything was fine and then we hear that mother has arrested Lord Tyrion and tried to have him executed and father is attacked in the streets by Ser Jaime. Then all of a sudden he’s telling me and Arya that it’s not safe in King’s Landing and he’s arranged for us to go back to Winterfell. I was so stupid. I told him we couldn’t leave because I was supposed to give Joffrey golden lions for children.” 

Sansa paused reflecting on the conversation again. Arya had said she was being an idiot because Joffrey’s children would be stags, but she had sniped back that Joffrey was nothing like his fat drunken father. She tried to remember her father’s face during the conversation. He had been amused by Sansa’s accidental admission that not only was Joffrey not gentle brave or strong but that she didn’t even want a husband like that. Then he had looked taken aback as she and Arya had bickered. Something in the conversation had struck him. It was clear to everyone that Joffrey took after his mother but for some reason the reminder had made her father abruptly end the conversation and dismiss the girls.

She and Jory sat in silence for a moment each one trying to piece together her father’s last weeks in King’s Landing. Then there was a sharp knock on the door and Sansa stood so suddenly she almost knocked her chair over. 

“Your grace, Their Majesties King Joffrey and the Queen Mother have requested your presence in dining hall for dinner.” Ser Preston’s voice called out from the hallway. Sansa relaxed a fraction. Ser Preston seemed a generally honorable man, nothing like Ser Ilyn or Meryn who leered at her almost constantly. Though, Sansa reflected, that was quite a low bar to judge a man’s character by.

Sansa called back to the member of the Kingsguard. “Thank you, Ser Preston. I will be out in a moment.” She turned back to Jory. She desperately wanted him to stay in her rooms so that they could continue their investigation, and, a small part of her nagged, so that she might have a trusted person to return to after Joffrey was done with her. But Sansa hesitated in asking. She had already taken up most of his day by requesting he stay with her while she slept; not to mention he had just served a full shift as a palace guard; he must be exhausted. 

Jory seemed to have read her mind. “I’ll stay here my lady, don’t worry. We need to figure out what your father knew as soon as possible.”

“But what if someone finds you?”

“Have your maids dismissed for the night, and if someone else enters I’ll hide in your wardrobe, or under the bed.”

Sansa could not suppress a snicker at the idea of a grown man such as Jory hiding beneath her bed. 

“Okay, thank you Jory, truly. Knowing you survived, that you and the other men are well and with me, it’s better news than I would have thought possible.” Sansa glanced at the door again. “I should go, if I keep Joffrey waiting, he’ll be upset with me.” Jory face darkened. “I have to assume he’ll take me to his chamber’s tonight so I’m not sure when I’ll be able to return. He usually falls asleep soon after though so it will probably be before the first or second bell of the morning.” 

Jory just nodded, seemingly not trusting his words after the reminder that the little girl he had seen grow up, whom he thought of as one of his own family, was subject to Joffrey’s brutality. 

Sansa waited for Jory to slip out of sight from the door before she opened it to reveal Ser Preston about to knock again.

“My apologies for keeping you waiting Ser Preston, would you accompany me to the dining hall?”

Ser Preston merely nodded and extended his arm in the direction of the dining hall. Joffrey thankfully took no notice of her late entrance. In fact, he was so caught up in regaling the members of the court present at dinner that night with epic tales of his hunt that day that he completely ignored her as she sat down beside him. 

Though Cersei gave her a small nod as she began to fill her goblet and plate. 

Joffrey’s younger sister, Myrcella, was seated on Sansa’s right and she did her best to tune Joffrey out and converse with her new good-sister. Sansa found it a bit harder than it was when her father was still the Hand. 

Back then she and Myrcella had been in the same world. Both the eldest daughters of the most powerful men in the country. Both expected to be perfect ladies caring only for fashion, poetry, and marriage. Now they were in two very different worlds. Myrcella was still in a song and eagerly awaited a noble husband to sweep her off her feet. Meanwhile Sansa lived in fear of her husband and prayed each night that he would choke on his wine. 

What made it worse was that Sansa liked Myrcella. The girl was sweet and funny and didn’t deserve the family she was born into. And she was too young to understand how Sansa might truly feel about her family. The blonde princess was just excited to have a new big sister. 

Sometimes Sansa wondered if this was how Theon felt with their family. She and her siblings acted like he was their brother, but in truth he had every right to resent the Stark family. He was a hostage just like she was and while she knew he was much happier in Winterfell than she was in the Red Keep he was still miles away from his family. He hadn’t seen his mother or his older sister since he was eight and the rumors were his mother’s mind had slipped following the separation. And like her, he lived with the fear that any day he might wake up and find that his execution had been ordered. She shook her head; if she ever saw him again, she might talk to him about it but right now there was no use thinking about it. 

She looked around the room. As usual the hall was decked out in Lannister colors. From the curtain to the server’s uniforms. If it wasn’t for the Baratheon crest hanging behind Joffrey one might think they were dining at Casterly Rock. Joffrey was particularly striking in a red vest and gold shirt. He even had a lion pin over his chest. Sansa didn’t think she’d actually ever seen him in Baratheon colors, certainly not after her father died. He, like his mother, seemed to have a penchant for gold.   
In the year Sansa had lived at King’s Landing before her father was arrested, she had noticed that Joffrey was much closer to Cersei than with Robert. It had always struck her as odd. Robb had been close with their mother but as the heir he had spent most of his time with their father. She remembered how he would follow Da around Winterfell watching how he ruled over the North. She couldn’t even imagine how devastated Robb would have been had their father actually been executed. 

In contrast Joffrey seemed to have been totally unaffected by his father’s death. But it was as she had told Arya, Joffrey might have been a Baratheon, but he looked like a lion through and through. Although she had been wrong about one thing, Joffrey might not have been as fat as his father, but he was an even bigger whoremonger and drunkard than Robert had ever been. 

Actually, looking at Myrcella, she too looked nothing like her father. Sansa looked past her to the youngest Baratheon. Tommen was just like all the other Lannisters, blonde and blue eyed. There was not a hint of the Baratheon dark locks and they were all quite slim while she had heard that in his youth Robert had been quite broad shouldered, Stannis was supposed to be the same. Renly had never been a warrior like his brother but anyone could see he still had a similar build. And all three of them had dark black hair. 

Sansa knew she herself was supposed to be the spitting image of her mother. It had pleased her most of the time; her mother was known to be a great beauty but every now and then, when she felt particularly apart from the North, she had searched her face for traces of her Stark heritage. There wasn’t much but she had noticed she had the same big eyes as her Uncle Benjen, though hers were blue and his brown. Moreover, while her mother had no dimples, she had one on her left cheek just as her father did. Robb, Bran, and Rickon were all also of the Tully persuasion though it was a bit easier to find their father in their masculine features. Robb’s hair had darkened as he got older and he had the same heavy brow as her father along with a cleft chin and the left dimple. Her eyes raked over Myrcella’s face but all she could see was Cersei. 

Suddenly she could see her father’s face perfectly as he heard her say she would give Joffrey sons with beautiful blonde hair. His eyes had widened, and they flickered around like Arya’s did when she was trying to do a sum in her head. Ned had dismissed them as soon as she said that and then, not a week later, he was arrested for claiming Joffrey’s claim on the throne was illegitimate. 

At the time she hadn’t given it much thought. Too caught up in her own confusion and fear. And when she had knelt before the King and begged for mercy, she had just thrown out that Lord Stannis or Lord Renly had lied to her father and told him Joffrey was not the rightful heir to the throne. She hadn’t actually known anything about where her father got his ideas. 

But, if he was talking to one of Robert’s favorite prostitutes and claiming that Lord Stannis was the true heir to the throne, then maybe he thought Joffrey wasn’t Robert’s trueborn child. 

Oh gods. Was Joffrey a bastard? Her father would never have tolerated anyone but Robert’s blood on the throne. She had no doubt that Cersei would have Lord Arryn killed and her father arrested if they had found out what Sansa suspected they had. 

The young queen’s thoughts were interrupted by Joffrey’s hand sliding up her thigh. She stiffened under his touch. Never in her entire life had she ever wanted someone to die but she couldn’t help but imagine how happy she would be to see the blonde king buried in the mud. He gripped her leg tight enough to bruise. 

“What do you think my Queen?” Joffrey gave her a smirk overflowing with arrogance.

Fuck. What had he been talking about? Damn it, Joffrey might have never said an intelligent thing in his life but that didn’t mean she could just ignore him. 

“I apologize, my King, I’m afraid I don’t understand the question.” Almost everyone in the room had their eyes on the young couple. Eager to see if the child Queen would be providing entertainment for the night. 

His hand squeezed her thigh even tighter and it was all she could do to hide her wince and his smile took on a cruel tilt. 

“Of course, you didn’t.” Joffrey raised his voice, so it carried across the tables. “How foolish of me to think that a woman would ever understand the nuances of politicking.” Sansa felt her face heat up and she feared everyone would see her the color of her face and match her hair. She might despise these people, but she couldn’t help but hate that they too might think of her as ‘stupid Sansa.’ 

“How silly of me, your mind is too small and simple to appreciate great complexities. I’ll try to explain it to you so that you might understand. We’ve heard rumors that my uncles Stannis and Renly might be amassing their forces, but it seems they might end up fighting each other before they face the Lannister forces. Your father and brother are traitors, surely you can understand the minds of craven men like my uncles.” Joffrey looked around the room for encouragement and was rewarded with several snickers from several of the nobles.

Sansa tightened her grip on her goblet. She couldn’t help but think of what Arya would do in this situation. Her little imp of a sister would probably dump the entire goblet all over Joffrey’s stupid blonde head. While the image of what Joffrey’s face would look like dripping red wine was incredibly amusing, she needed to answer him. 

“I’m sorry my King. You’re right I’ve never had a mind for politics. I’m afraid I never understood my traitor father or brother. I can’t imagine what Lords Stannis and Renly are thinking but I know that they must understand less than I if they think they can defy you. Only a fool would do so.” 

The news that Stannis and Renly might be moving against Joffrey was interesting. She imagined for a moment how perfect it would be if one of them sacked King’s Landing. They might kill Joffrey for her and send her home to Winterfell to secure her father’s support. It would be quite a tidy way for her to get home.  
Joffrey looked a bit disappointed that she hadn’t humiliated herself but never lost his smug smile. 

“Of course you wouldn’t know anything. Women’s minds are only suited towards idle gossip and baby-making. Speaking of which. We still need to get an heir in you. Come, I think it’s time we try again.” 

The room immediately filled with knowing smiles and snickering. Joffrey let go of her thigh and took her hand in his. He pulled her up out of her seat, enthusiastic but not aggressive. He might enjoy hurting her in bed but he’d act the gentleman in front of the court. Though given how violently his mood could swing who knew how long his public facade would last. 

Sansa didn’t tremble or shake as she stood and followed Joffrey out of the dining hall. She had gotten depressingly used to walking towards her own rape. The walk to his chambers always seemed to take forever, every night with Joffrey seemed to take forever. She could judge how each night would go based on his mood. 

There were three basic ones. The one he was in tonight, happy and self-satisfied. It was her favorite mood. It meant she could get away with a few fake moans to boost his ego and and then could try to check out for the rest of the night. The second one was some combination of angry or embarrassed. It happened anytime Joffrey went onto the practice fields or spoke to Tyrion, the small man seemed to be particularly skilled at riling the young king up. When he was like that he needed to prove himself, to whom she didn’t know but he was always rougher, meaner. It was much harder for her to escape in her own mind. The last mood was the worst. She never knew when to expect it or what triggered it but he would get cruel. It was like what people used to say about the Targaryens, that they were just a flip of a coin away from greatness or insanity. Only with Joffrey it was like the gods flipped the coin every night and the choices were insanity or mediocrity. And when it landed the wrong way she was sure to spend the whole night in pain. And there would be no chance to escape into her mind. 

But tonight he was happy so Sansa could relax, or at least not spend the night paralyzed with fear of what savage thing he might think to do to her. By the time they reached Joffrey’s room he had been fully taken by all the wine he had consumed at dinner and was having trouble walking in a straight line. He didn’t even tell her to get undressed. He just flopped on the bed, propped up by his elbows and flung is arm out at her. The meaning was clear though. Her hands swiftly undid the ties on her dress and unlacing her corset. It was best to get the whole ordeal over with as soon as possible. At least tonight had a silver lining. Jory was still waiting for her in her chambers and she could run her theory on Joffrey’s parentage by him. 

Once she was bare, she stood in front of Joffrey doing her best not to give into the urge to cover herself under his lust-filled gaze. Blue eyes leered at her. She shifted on her feet as she felt her husband’s gaze consume her young form. Before her father had been arrested she had been eagerly anticipating the arrival of her breasts and her first flowering. Sansa had been so disappointed that she still couldn’t fill out her dresses the way she saw other women at court and how Cersei could. Now she couldn’t care less. Now she hated her body. She hated the way Joffrey acted like he owned it. How he beat it, manipulated it, and forced himself on it. And every night when he was taking her, she did her best to escape it. 

Joffrey stood on shaky legs and began unlacing his pants. He jerked his head towards the bed and again the message was clear. She laid face down on the bed. She always tried to avoid having to look at him. She wasn’t always successful. 

Joffrey didn’t seem to care tonight. She clenched her eyes shut as he crawled on top of her body. He hadn’t even bothered to take off his shirt or shoes and she could feel them scraping against her skin. He just slipped his pants down low enough to expose his hardened member and unceremoniously pushed his way in her. 

After three weeks the pain had yet to go away. She had hoped that eventually her body might adjust but once again it failed her. He rutted against her, shaking her and forcing her further up the bed. Eventually she had to put her hands in front of her head so that she didn’t hit the headboard. 

Sansa felt Joffrey’s hand slip down from where it was tangled in her hair to the back of her neck and he pressed her face into the pillows. His other hand landed on her upper arm, both working in tandem to keep her down. His breath started coming faster and faster like hers did during one of her episodes. The only difference was his was accompanied by sporadic grunts and moans. 

She could also make out a few words among his heavy breathing. Mostly expletives. He told her to take it. Told her she was his bitch; that he owned her.   
Suddenly she felt his body still and he let out a long groan. His arms gave out and she felt his body blanket hers. It was sweaty and suffocating and she prayed to the old gods and the new that the alcohol would sweep him away.

They seemed to be on her side today. After about five minutes of her heavy breathing in her ear she started hearing the telltale snorts that meant Joffrey was slipping off. Every bone in her body was begging her to get off the bed but she forced herself to wait. Joffrey wasn’t the deepest of sleepers and if she left too early, he’d wake up and demand another round. It was a mistake she had made several times during the first week of their marriage.

Eventually his breath slowed, and he shifted and fell off her back. She waited a few more breaths and then slowly slipped off the bed. As quietly and as quickly as possible she laced her dress back up and tiptoed from Joffrey’s bed chamber into his solar, then through the door that connected his to hers and then finally into the relative sanctuary of her own bed chamber. 

The redhead glanced around her room looking for Jory. She didn’t have to wait long before the one of the curtains separating her room from the balcony was peeled back and the dark-haired guard stepped through. 

He made to move towards her, but before he took his second step she had flinched back. She had never been able to even look her maids in the eye after a night with Joffrey. And now feeling some of the remnants of Joffrey’s efforts sliding down her leg she could barely stand to be in the same room as one of the men that had watched her grow up. 

Jory seemed to understand her flinch. He stopped moving and held out his hands in front of his body. He approached her like she was a particularly willful horse he was trying to get under rein. 

“Lady Sansa are you okay?”

She took a deep breath and blinked her eyes a few times.

“Yes, Jory thank you I’ll be fine.” She moved over to her dining table and held out a hand for him to take a seat beside her. She could see on his face that he didn’t believe her. His fists were clenched at his side and he glanced towards her solar like he would like nothing more than to barge into Joffrey’s room and slit the King’s throat while he lay in bed. After a moment she cleared her throat and gestured at the seat again.

“I think I remembered something father did just before he was arrested, and I wanted to ask if you knew anything about it.” He nodded and quickly joined her at the table. “I was remembering one of the last times he spoke with me and Arya. It was a few days after you were attacked and he brought us into his solar to tell us he had arranged for us to return to Winterfell. I-I was furious at the time because I was so dead set on marrying Joffrey. I told my father I didn’t want him to find me another husband I wanted to give Joffrey sons with golden hair.” Jory gave her a confused look, not quite seeing where all this was going. “Arya told me I was being an idiot; Joffrey’s children would be stags like his father.” Slowly realization dawned on the guard’s face. “I told my father that Joffrey was nothing like King Robert, that he was a lion, and then suddenly father sent us out of the room to pack.”

“Hold on, you can’t, you’re not saying that” Jory seemed at a loss for words. Her accusation, implied treason of the highest sort.

“I think my father believed Joffrey, Myrcella, and Tommen Baratheon were bastards. He said Joffrey wasn’t the rightful heir to the throne. It seems this is the most obvious reason why that would be true.” 

“Wait, when Lord Stark and I went to the brothel to talk to the woman, she had a baby. Robert’s baby. Your father was asking her about it. I forget what exactly, but he was very interested in the babe.”

Sansa thought for a moment before responding. Her voice was slow, still figuring out the words, even as she was speaking. “So my father was interested in Robert’s bastards. Maybe that’s why he went to the smithy. The apprentice that he spoke to, do you remember anything about him?”

Jory’s eyes glanced up, pulling the memory from deep in his brain. “Not much just, well actually, thinking on it now, the lad did look an awful lot like King Robert when he was younger. A bit like Lord Renly now but much bulkier.”

“If my father thought for even a moment that Joffrey wasn’t the true heir to the Seven Kingdoms he would have acted immediately.”

“And if Cersei knew what your father had discovered, she would have had him arrested right away.” Jory jumped in to finish her thought. The two Northerners sat in silence before Sansa spoke up.

“So why have him arrested? Why not just have him killed?”

Jory gave her an incredulous look before shaking his head. “I’m sorry my Lady Sansa sometimes I forget you were not raised as your brother’s were. You know the North is the largest of the Seven Kingdoms, but do you remember that it is also the strongest. Proximity to the Wall with all its wildling attacks has meant that the armies of the North are the most battle hardened in the land. Each lord and their men have been tested on the field several times over, and though Cersei had no way of knowing this, your brother has one of the best strategic and tactical minds I’ve ever seen. Had the Lannisters killed your father, no matter the reason, the North would’ve risen in his name. 

“Add their might to the armies your mother would have secured in the Riverlands through her father Lord Tully and in the Vale through her sister. The Lannister’s might have a larger army but there’s no guarantee they would win. And even if they did, they would lose much more than they were willing to.”

Sansa mulled this information over in her head. Again, she felt like an idiot. How could she have forgotten the strength of the North compared to the other Kingdoms. It was the only reason her father had been so respected at court despite being an outsider. No one wanted to make an enemy of a man whose domain was two or even three times the size of theirs.

“I wonder, Father had a book he was looking at after he dismissed us that day. He opened it before we had even left the room. I wonder if it was important, if it had some proof of Joffrey’s parentage in it. Perhaps one of his manservants might-” Oh gods Sansa thought, I’m an idiot. 

“Wait! Oh, how could I have forgotten?” The fucking scroll was sitting right in front of her on the table. She lunged across the table to grab it. “How could I have been so stupid I’ve had the damned thing for hours.” 

Jory looked at her like she had lost her mind. Her finger nimbly unstuck the wax seal from the parchment, and she unrolled it as fast as she could. Her eyes scanned up and down the list, once, twice, three times. Then she sagged back in her seat the parchment dangling from her fingertips. 

“My Lady, what, if I can ask what’s on the scroll?” Sansa looked up at Jory, she had almost forgotten he was in the room. 

“Sorry, Jory.” She reached over and handed him the tiny scroll. “I asked Cersei if she could provide me with a list of all those in our household that survived or died in the Lannister’s raid. Jeyne and Septa Mordane survived. But Bes died, so did Moren and Alden. Seven hells. They killed three people. Our people. And now they’ve got five others as hostages. Six if you count me.” Sansa muttered dejectedly.

Bes had been one of her mother’s handmaidens for longer than Sansa had been alive. Moren her father’s manservant, Alden his clerk, and a skilled swordsman in his own right. Their families were all from Wintertown, some even worked at Winterfell. And now the only comfort those families will have is that their children’s bodies will be returned home.

“Fuck.” Jory had been friends with Alden, the two had been frequent sparring partners. And Bes had been his cousin, or maybe second cousin. He put his hand over his eyes and dragged it down his face. She had always thought of Jory as being quite young, especially compared to his uncle or even her father but just then his face showed each one of his years. The man had already fought in one war and now he was watching as another bubbled up in front of him. 

“Cersei told me that the other members of our household had been taken in by the Lannisters. So hopefully they’re safe. I’m not sure what I can do for them at this point. I’m not even sure where they are.” Sansa dropped her head in her hands. “Gods how did we get here? How in Seven Hells did everything go so wrong?”  
Jory stretched out a hesitant hand towards her. When she didn’t flinch away he rested it on her shoulder. 

“I don’t know Lady Sansa. But I swear to you, you’re going to find a way through it. And I’ll be here the whole way. I’m not leaving you until I see you home with your family.”

She looked at him through her hands and offered him a watery smile.

“Thank you Jory. But I have to stay here, I’m a hostage now. If I leave Joffrey might declare war on the North.” Jory opened his mouth to protest but Sansa beat him to it. “I won’t be another Lyanna Stark, Jory. The whole reason I did this was to save my father and brother, I won’t have them ride into battle on my behalf.”

“Of course Lady Sana.” Jory seemed willing to let the matter drop now but Sansa knew this wouldn’t be the last she heard of it. “But for now I think it’s best if you get some more sleep. I imagine it’s not wise to deal with the Lannisters without a full night’s rest. Besides if I remember the guards schedule they should be switching right now. I should be able to sneak out unnoticed.”

Sansa nodded softly and stood up. “You know Jory, you can just call me Sansa. It seems a bit silly to stand on ceremony after all that’s happened. Besides, you know you’ve always been family to us.”

He grinned at her. “Well I suppose now I should actually be calling you Queen Sansa.” She huffed out a little laugh. “But thank you Lady Sansa, Sansa, I appreciate it. I always thought of you and the other little Starks as my own family as well. I’ll take my leave now. I’m not sure when I’ll be able to speak to you again but you’ll see me around and I’ll try to come back as soon as possible.” 

Sansa just nodded. It was mildly devastating to know that he couldn’t be guarding her the whole time but it was much better than not having him here at all. He nodded and smiled back before heading to the door. It seemed he didn’t want to risk her feeling like she had to flinch away from another hug and she was glad for it. He gave a gentle knock on the door. It one of her guards was outside he would hear and come in and he could hide behind the door. If not he could slip out. When there was no response he sent her one final smile and walked out into the hallway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not as much plot progression as I would have liked but I wanted to show some of Sansa's investigative skills and have her start learning about Joffrey cause I honestly have no idea when she figures out that Joffrey's a bastard.  
> Let me know what you think and leave kudos if you liked it!!


	13. Baratheon Fury

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: physical abuse

The next days past in much the same way as the weeks before. There were only two noticeable differences. The first was how wonderful it was to see Jory and eventually Neal, in the hallways. She didn’t get an opportunity to speak with either of them but it was enough to know they were close by. The second thing was much, much worse. Joffrey was growing bolder in bed. More violent. There were more bruises than ever on her body and now they were joined by little cuts from his rings and nails. He took pleasure in her pain and she dreaded the day he fully gave into his sadism. 

It turned out however that there wasn’t much for a child queen to do. The first week after the wedding had been a series of feasts, balls and tournaments, all hastily put together. And after that she really had nothing to occupy herself with. She spent her days avoiding Joffrey and Cersei, walking through the gardens, sitting by the water and praying in the Godswood. 

She had tried to spend time in the library but there was always someone there. Usually Tyrion or Baelish, two people she had no desire to spend much time with. Both were always pleasant to her but Tyrion, for all he was brilliant, never seemed to figure out how him humiliating Joffrey affected her married life. Not to mention he was a Lannister though he was the nicest one. As for Baelish, she wasn’t sure what his angle was. He had always been nice to her, but then he had argued against her father’s deal to take the Black and seemed to enjoy her bedding ceremony far too much. She hated seeing any of the men who carried her to Joffrey’s chambers that night. Each time she did it was as though their hands were squeezing the air out of her lungs.

Today Joffrey was holding court and as his Queen she was required to be in attendance. 

The throne room had changed since she had begged for her father’s life. Robert hadn’t cared much for decor but Joffrey did. And in typical Lannister fashion he was adding gold to everything. When she had first seen the throne room with Septa Mordane she had only seen it as the place where she would watch her beloved husband rule the Seven Kingdoms. 

Now, gold or not, she couldn’t help but think of how her grandfather and uncle had been murdered here. Murdered after they had come south to rescue her Aunt Lyanna after she had been kidnapped by Rheagar Targaryen. It was impossible not to draw parallels between her situation and her late aunt’s. She could only pray that her father and Robb would stay in the North so they could all avoid history repeating itself. 

Sansa did her best to slip in without drawing attention to herself but her efforts were in vain. She might have been a Queen in name only but there was decorum still had to be followed. Thus after the guards opened the doors for her she was faced with over thirty nobles, all dipping into deep bows and curtsies once they caught sight of her. Sansa kept her head high, she had quickly learned that the best way to avoid getting sucked into the petty games of the nobles in the court was to simply act like you were above it all. 

She walked up the dais to her seat behind Joffrey. Sansa had usurped Cersei’s usual seat and the Queen mother had been relegated to standing behind her. Personally Sansa would have been fine standing behind Cersei, and she knows the former queen didn’t appreciate the slight.

For the most part court was agonizingly boring. Generally it was just nobles from all over Westeros coming to petition the crown for aid or to answer a summons. The first week after her wedding had been a stream of gifts from all the houses in the land, even the minor ones. On the more interesting days and envoy from Essos or YiTi would have a message for the King. Sansa always loved those days, it was wonderful seeing the people, fashions, and customs from such far away places. 

Every fifth day of the week peasants and merchants were allowed into the court to ask favors of the King. Joffrey wasn’t always inclined to grant the petitions of the nobles or the favors of the small folk but when he did, he made sure everyone in attendance that day knew just how generous he was being. Today was supposed to be another mind numbing day of listening to Joffrey wax lyrically about his numerous virtues. 

Joffrey burst through the doors soon after Sansa had taken her seat. He always had to make a big entrance. Unlike Sansa Joffrey relished in the attention the Lords and Ladies of the court. He took as long as possible to walk up the dais. But instead of taking his seat as Sansa had, Joffrey chose to stand in front of the Iron Throne.   
It was something Sansa had noticed Joffrey doing ever since he took the crown. The young king spent as little time on the actual throne as possible. And any time he did spend on the throne he always looked exceptionally uncomfortable. Sansa had even seen spots of blood on his back one day. 

Sansa had always heard that the reason the Iron Throne was so uncomfortable was so that the monarch at the time never forgot how tenuous their reign was, how easily it could be taken away from them. Each blade on their back was an enemy on the field and if the ruler wasn’t careful, they would end up in a bloody mess, one way or another. It seemed Joffrey hadn't heard the same warning. Or maybe he just didn’t care.

Sansa was fully prepared for another day of dull court proceedings. Joffrey had other plans in mind. 

After reaching the throne he spun around dramatically spread his arms wide. 

“We have news!” Joffrey announced “From Dragonstone and Storm’s Landing. It seems my Lord Uncles Stannis and Renly have both called their bannerman and raised their armies. They have declared war on the Iron Throne and are marching towards King’s Landing.”

Sansa felt her heart drop into her stomach. The throne room was immediately filled with gasps and whispers. The country was at was again for the fourth time in fifty years. The kingdom had barely recovered from the Blackfyre Wars when Robert’s Rebellion had started. Then the Greyjoy Rebellion had set recovery back again. And now armies from two fiefs were on the move. The nobles weren’t just scared for their own lives, there was a chance the country might not survive a fourth war. It also didn’t help that no one had any confidence in the young King. 

Joffrey took a moment to let the news sink in before turning around to face her. He waited another second, allowing her to see the cruel smirk on his face and the humiliation in his eyes. 

“My beloved Sansa.” Joffrey’s tone was saccharine sweet. “If you would stand before the throne, I believe you must answer to your King.”

Sansa rose from her seat on on unsure feet. She stepped down from the dais and turned to stand in front of the throne. 

“My King, I must apologize for I do not know to what I must answer.”

“You don’t? Well it shouldn’t be had for you to remember. After all it was only a month ago when you last stood before me for the exact same reason.”

“Yes your Majesty of course I remember. I begged for my father’s life and you graciously showed my family mercy. I am eternally grateful my King, however I am unsure what relevance that has now.” The only thing Sansa could think of was that when she had pleaded her father’s innocence she had blamed Stannis and Renly for lying to him. 

“We have reason to believe that my uncles are marching because they deny my claim to the throne. Just as your father did. In fact,” Joffrey glanced towards Lord Baelish, “I’m told they’ve declared war because your father wrote Lord Stannis before he was arrested and told him I wasn’t the rightful King. Your father wrote Lord Stannis, and claimed I wasn’t the true King and pledged his allegiance to my uncle. You told me Lord Stannis lied to your father. Well, it turns out your traitor father lied to my uncle. Which means you lied to me. And now, because of your father the realm is at war again and my throne is threatened.” Joffrey’s voice turned cold at the end. He was furious and she was going to pay for it.

Joffrey stretched out his hand and Ser Meryn handed him a crossbow. Sansa fell to her knees at once. The blonde King leveled the arrow at her head.

“Please your grace my father is a traitor, Lord Stannis and Lord Renly are traitors but whatever they have done you must know I had no part. I am loyal to you my beloved King above all else.”

“Lord Stark, your father, and Lord Stannis conspired against the throne and now I have not one but two armies marching towards us.” Joffrey roared. “I showed your father mercy because he swore he would take the Black and that he would never raise a hand against me again. Instead it seems as though he and Stannis have been working together. Should I expect news from the North tomorrow? That your brother has called the banners again and is leading his armies to the capital?”

“No your grace please. I know my father and brother. They swore to your terms. My brother has sent envoys to the south to swear his fealty to you. Lord Stannis and Lord Renly cannot be acting with my father. Please your grace you have to believe me.”

“That may be so,” Joffrey lowered the crossbow and Sansa couldn’t help but let out a breath, “But until I have assurances from your brother’s envoys and word that the Northern armies have dispersed I have to assume they are acting against me. And since I can’t kill my beloved wife. I have to send them another message. Stand. Meryn.”

Ser Meryn strode toward her, white cloak trailing behind him. Sansa wasn’t quite sure what was about to happen and she trembled as he drew closer. When he was but a foot away from her Joffrey spoke again.

“Leave her face. I like her pretty.” Terror washed over Sansa. 

“Joffrey please do you really think-”

“Silence Mother” Cersei’s plea was cut off before it was even uttered. “We must show the North what will happen if they go back on their word.” Joffrey nodded to his guard. 

Ser Meryn’s fist plowed into Sansa’s stomach. Air exploded out of her lungs as she crumpled over his arm. Sansa was learning a whole new meaning for the word pain in the Red Keep. Her stomach throbbed worse than the time she had fallen off her horse as a girl. It was all she could do not to expel her breakfast on the marble floor. It only got worse as she heard the telltale sound of Meryn unsheathing his sword. She could barely think about what he would do with it before he slapped her legs with the flat of the blade. A searing pain burst throughout the back of her legs and she crumpled to the floor. Meryn stalked behind her. 

“Meryn my Lady’s overdressed, unburden her.”

The Kingsguard walked up to her back and tore her dress open. exposing her upper back and corset to the court. He raised his blade again and brought the flat of it down on her spine once, twice, and a third time. It was like lines of fire were searing down her back and with each blow layered on top of the one before the pain doubled. She felt it split her skin and blood began dripping down her back. Sansa couldn’t breathe through the agony. She was reduced to hitching sobs one. Each one only bringing in enough air to keep her conscious. One of the blows had cut through her corset revealing her whole back. She felt the fabric give in her front and raised her hands to her chest to protect the last shred of her dignity. 

Joffrey seemed dissatisfied by her torture.

“If we want the North to hear us, we’re going to have to speak louder!” Meryn moved in front of her and was about to raise his blade again when the doors to the throne room burst open. 

“What’s the meaning of this?” Sansa turned to see the crowds part behind her revealing Lord Tyrion. Sansa noticed Joffrey looked around like a boy scolded at supper. 

Tyrion strode through the nobles and turned towards Meryn. “What kind of knight beats a helpless girl? A queen at that?”

“The king who serves his King Imp.” Meryn spat back at Tyrion.

“Careful now.” The sellsword Sansa had seen with Tyrion spoke up from her other side. “We don’t want to get blood over your pretty white cloak.”

“Someone get the girl something to cover herself with” Tyrion demanded then walked up to Joffrey. “She’s is your queen, have you no regard for her honor?” 

Ser Clegan walked up to Sansa. He ignored her finch as he tore off his cloak and drew it over her shoulders. She winced again as it brushed over the wounds on her back but she was happy for the protection it offered her vulnerable skin, not to mention her dignity. She was the queen and yet she had been stripped down and beaten before the entire court. No one would ever respect her or her title. Not after this. 

“I’m punishing her.” Joffrey continued to argue with his uncle.

“For what crimes? She has not joined your uncles’ armies and the North remains at peace, her father still heads for the Wall. She’s innocent of this treason you halfwit.”

“You can’t talk to me like that. The King can do as he likes.” Joffrey’s whine carried through the room. He moved back to the throne and did his best to sit on it. Making a point to everyone in the room that the seat and the power it came with was his. 

“The Mad King did as he liked, has your Uncle Jaime ever told you what happened to him?” Tyrion asked, knowing everyone in the room would understand his true meaning.

Ser Meryn stepped towards Tyrion. “No one threatens the King in the presence of the Kingsguard.” His hand was on his sword hilt, ready to cut the man down where he stood. Sansa notice Tryion’s sellsword also had a hand on his sword hilt. She took a moment to pray there wouldn’t be a fight.

“I’m not threatening the King, Ser; I’m educating my nephew.” Tyrion didn’t look at the knight but spoke slowly as if the man was a simpleton. “Bronn” Ah that was the sellsword’s name, “The next time Ser Meryn speaks, kill him. That was a threat. See the difference?”

Tyrion walked back down the steps and towards the bleeding queen. He approached her slowly and offered her a hand to help her up. She stared at it for a moment, then spared a glance at Joffrey who had stood from the throne. She didn’t care how angry it made him she needed to get out of that room. She took Tyrion’s hand and rose. She turned quickly to avoid seeing Joffrey’s reaction and she, Tyrion, Bronn and some of her ladies in waiting who attended court with her left the throne room. 

“Tell me the truth, do you need to leave King’s Landing? I can arrange for you to be sent to Casterly Rock.” Tyrion whispered to her.

Sansa longed to say yes but she knew she couldn’t trust Tyrion and she needed to stay close to Joffrey. If only so that she could do her best to ensure he never took arms against the North. 

“I am loyal to King Joffrey. My one true love” The redhead kept her head high as she left the room, just as how she had entered. For all that spectacle had been the most humiliating thing to ever happen to her, she would not let anyone see anymore weakness than she had already shown. She walked ahead of Lord Tyrion her ladies following close behind. But she wasn’t far enough away to hear Tyrion’s last words, though they were spoken under his breath.

“You may survive us yet.”

Survive. Sansa thought as she struggled to walk under her wounds. Survive. Was that the best she could ask for. Living a miserable life married to a monster. Sansa felt blood drip down her back and legs and her stomach throbbed with pain. 

She felt anger build up with each beat of her heart. It had only been a month but she was sick of surviving. She had gotten a taste of life with Joffrey and she was sick of it. She deserved more. She was Sansa Stark of Winterfell. The blood of the First Men ran through her veins and she was descended from 8000 years of northern kings. She could do more than survive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit of a filler chapter but I wanted to move the wars forward and show Sansa's progression.  
> Please please comment or leave kudos if you liked it! Each one fills me with joy.

**Author's Note:**

> Long time reader and writer, but first time poster so please be nice! 
> 
> Please comment or leave kudos they give me life!


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